Quoth the Raven
by TrebleMaker
Summary: All Sam had wanted was to visit the memorial of one of his favorite authors.  He never imagined he would endure one of his works.  Hurt/Sick Sam.  Takes place in season 2 sometime after Heart.  Rated for language and suggestive themes. NO WINCEST!
1. October 3rd

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Supernatural or any of its characters. I do not own the rights to any works by the late great Edgar Allan Poe either. I'm not making money off this stuff, so please just read it for what it is!

**A/N: **A few of you wanted to see some more Sam whumpage in my last fic (Storm Chasers) so I dug in and tried to figure out how to write for Sam.  
This is what I've come up with...

Also, just a warning. There's some material in here that's a bit on the NC-17 side.  
If you're uncomfortable with it, I suggest skipping the italicized text somewhere in the middle of this...

* * *

**[October 3rd****, 2007]**

It never got easier - the smell. No matter how many times they did it, the whole torch and burn routine, it never smelled any better. And while it was multitudes better than the smell of burning bones _and _flesh, it wasn't anything remotely resembling a walk in the park. Or a happy jaunt through the garden for that matter. Not that Dean expected the bones to suddenly smell like roses. He wasn't stupid.

He turned away from the fire as it crackled its own sweet symphony in the ditch he and his brother had labored away to create. It had taken them 2 hours to dig up the Civil War era grave, which wasn't altogether unusual either. But, Dean had to admit, it was almost like mother nature was working against them today.

…or rather had been for a few days, before they got here.

Hunting down the sucker this time had been amusing, albeit dangerous on a whole new level. Dean had seen a gamut of spectral abilities, depending on how an upset spirit had shuffled off the mortal coil. Some of them could shoot little jolts of electricity. Some preferred to carry a weapon of some sort, most notably something sharp. Others could drain the life right out of you with little more than a touch. However, Dean was pretty sure this one took the cake in terms of crazy.

This bastard ran around shooting cannon balls. The best part? They shot out of his chest.

At first, Dean had laughed when Sam had found the evidence. The gun powder residue, the broken bones and lost limbs of the survivors.

…The enormous holes in the victims that didn't dodge out of the way in time.

A snort of laughter left his lips again at the thought of it. So what if he was a little warped for thinking it was funny? They saw death and destruction in a supernatural way every single day. More often than not, it was gruesome, bloody and gut churning.

Not that this one hadn't been any of those things. Dean just hadn't been expecting a cannon.

_A civil war cannon-ghost._

A sharp note of laughter slipped past his lips before he could help it. He faked a cough and glanced about more to check that Sam hadn't heard him laughing at the messed up situation (again) than to make sure he hadn't drawn attention to himself. It was a habit.

He sniffled a bit and rubbed his hand up and down his arm briefly to generate a little friction. Autumn had waltzed in early this year, putting a little chill into the air that heralded the early arrival of its chilly cousin, winter. Unfortunately, early cold meant digging graves was going to get a whole lot more difficult. The colder the ground got, the more solidified the dirt got. It meant a whole lot more work and a longer hot shower to get rid of the knots that strung themselves along the Winchesters constantly tense muscles.

Shifting his weight, Dean inspected the cemetery grounds again. His nerves were already frazzled today. He had had too much coffee and a close run in with a cannon ball less than an hour ago; his lips curled in an amused smile at the thought. Then, as Dean jumped into the hole that Sam had started to dig, Sasquatch had mumbled something about "sightseeing" and "an American icon" before he nervously ran his hands through his hair and stalked off. For the past half hour or so, Dean had been watching his back, digging out the rest of the grave AND getting rid of the ghost on his own. That kind of multi-tasking could be brutal, especially if a decent amount of high-test coffee was speeding its way through your system. Being a little paranoid right about now was a complete understatement.

Dean sighed, seeing a thin trail of his warm breath in the air materialize in front of his eyes. He could feel the warmth of the still roaring fire spreading along his back and easing some of the tension from the tight muscles there. He was grateful for that effect. Dean stretched, turning from side to side, and scanned the area. He was satisfied to see that him and Sam had still gone undetected.

_Where'd he get to anyways?_

Anxiety tickled along the outskirts of his already nervous thoughts. Dean batted them away, trying to focus on the task at hand - making sure this thing burned completely without anyone sporting the Winchester name getting caught.

_Yea, that's helping._

He scanned the area to the north, vaguely remembering his brother stalking off in that general direction. He wracked his brain for anything else his brother might've said about where he was going.

Sam had gotten really excited, in his quiet geek boy kind of way, when he had found their apparition's burial plot because of _where_ it was. This cemetery, the Westminster Burying Grounds tucked away in Baltimore, held someone of great importance.

At least, Sam thought he was important, which gave Dean another clue. If Dean thought he - or she, the elder Winchester conceded - was important, they must've done something cool to get Sam's attention. Cool to Sam was something dorky like discovering Penicillin was an antibiotic or that snowflakes were all unique in a mathematically perfect way.

"C'mon, college boy," Dean muttered under his breath.

"You miss me that much, Dean?" Sam asked from somewhere behind his brother's left shoulder. The jolt that went through Dean made Sam smile in arrogance.

_HA!_

"Miss you? Mr. I-ate-Mexican-tonight-even-though-that-makes-me-toxic?" Dean shot back, effectively wiping the smirk off his little brother's face. His eyebrows were raised, his arms wide in question as he continued, "I'm just glad I got the fire started before you got back. Coulda blown up everything if you were around and let one rip."

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed in irritation, shifting his weight and throwing his arms in the air in defeat. Dean had been on his case all night. Actually, all week. It would've been just fine with him if his big brother were making him laugh or just generally trying to make him feel _better_. Instead, Dean was being irritating and abrasive in a way that only Dean could.

It had been hard for Sam - to let go of Jess, to let go of their father, to feel something other than distraught, to open himself up again to someone else. Just thinking about Jessica now made his heart clench uncomfortably. It wasn't fair, even if he had managed to make his peace with it.

Just over a year later, Sam had met Madison. To say he found her attractive was probably an understatement. He was surprised he hadn't started drooling when she opened her door that first time. Sure. She was the opposite of Jess in every sense when it came to physical appearance, but she had a strength and polarity in her personality that resonated with him. It was the same way he had felt when he first met Jess too.

He had wanted to protect her even before they had suspected she really needed it. He had been elated when they had destroyed the werewolf that had infected her. When the sun had risen and she hadn't changed, his heart had practically leapt into his throat.

Sam hadn't seen a future with someone since he had been with Jess, but he could see something more unfolding with Madison. He wanted it, her - to be _with _her.

When Dean had left, implications and suggestions dropped before Sam could stop him, the energy buzzing through the entire apartment had been almost too much for him to take. Sam had pounced, surprised that she seemed just as wanting and needy as he had been. They hadn't progressed slowly from there either.

When they had made it to her bed, breathing hard with lust shining in their eyes, Sam had suddenly felt shy. Apparently, Madison had sensed it, because in no time at all, she had touched, caressed and otherwise pleased Sam until his whole mind was one lust filled haze. He hadn't wasted time after that, pressing himself against her heated with desire.

They had ravished each other to the fullest extent. Sam had never felt his body so taut with passion - so completely consumed by the fiery _need_ like he had with her. Maybe it had been because he hadn't been with a woman for close to a year, but he was pretty sure it was because Madison had managed to break down the walls that he had constructed around his heart.

And the way she moved?

Sam had to take a deep breath to quiet the stirrings he was feeling at the memory alone. A flush rose to his cheeks at the vivid memory of her writhing beneath him and, at one _very_ pleasurable point, in his lap as he held her. By the way the cool air became frigid against his skin, Sam knew he needed to distract himself before he had other problems - namely the one that would harass him for his current state.

He swallowed as the next night's event resurfaced. How Sam had woken up to her snarls. How she had changed despite everything that they had tried to do. How she had killed again. How she had come back and awoken the next morning to Sam's tear filled, disappointed face.

She had asked Sam to do it, breaking his heart and damming up the floodgates she had opened the night before. The future Sam had seen crumbling away like sand scattering in the wind. Sam had taken the gun from Dean, seeing the tears welling up in his big brother's eyes as he walked into her room.

He had hesitated a moment, just staring into her warm, brown eyes. She hadn't cried - hadn't said anything. She only gently caressed his face and pulled him to her, kissing him sweetly and passionately at the same time. When they broke apart, she had placed her hand over his heart and smiled sadly up at him. Sam had taken a shuddering breath and raised the gun to her heart. She had nodded, never quivering or showing anything other than her complete trust in him.

He wanted to stop himself, to let her live in the hopes of making it work out - saving her. He knew it could never happen. She was a blood thirsty monster, even if she couldn't remember what she did in the middle of the night while most people were sleeping.

He could feel the tear trek down his cheek and dribble past his chin as the gun shot resounded somewhere deep within the memory he watched. He had only known her for a handful of days, but Sam was pretty sure that he had fallen in love with her. The thing that made his heart ache was knowing that she had fallen for him too.

It wasn't fair.

"Somethin' in your eye, there, Sammy?" Dean asked with soft concern. He knew Sam was reliving it again. He had been since he had been forced to take her life. His little Sammy was breaking apart from the inside out and Dean absolutely hated it.

"Geez, Dean. Who shoved a stick up your ass, huh?" Sam asked with anger rolling through him in tight, violent waves. He swiped at the few tears that had followed after the first one, frustrated with himself for being weak and even more frustrated that Dean felt the need to rub it in his face.

It wasn't his fault that he was sensitive - that he took life seriously in most regards. Maybe if he had been more like Dean, the player with no attachment, it wouldn't have hurt so much. But if the way even Dean's face had been streaked with tears after Sam had walked out of Madison's room for the last time, he knew it wasn't true. Dean was just as soft as he was. He just managed to keep it safely on the inside where no one else could see it.

Dean, who had gone to the edge of their excavation site to check on the dying fire, turned to Sam with arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. It was his response to Sam's question - Dean's trademark "I'm the big brother here" stance.

"God, Dean! You're such a jerk!" Sam sniped at him. Jerk was probably an understatement here, but Sam was too frustrated and emotionally drained to come up with anything original.

"Yea? And you're a whiny little bitch," Dean replied as he began to drop dirt back into the hole, effectively smothering the embers of the bones that remained. The soft sounds of the falling earth mixed with the mild strain in his voice as he asked, "So what else is new?"

Sam sent a hard stare at his brother, one that would've broken glass and caught timber on fire. Fortunately, Dean was human and merely stopped shoveling, plunging the blade of the shovel into the firm ground, and stared right back.

"What?" Dean asked, trying to get the whole situation to blow over. He hadn't realized Sam was nearly as upset as he apparently was.

"Dean, just cut the shit," Sam said exasperatedly. His hands danced wildly with his words as he continued, "If you're trying to get me to feel better, fine. Just… Enough with the berating and harassing. Dean, I just lost someone I lov-"

Sam's words stopped short, caught somewhere in the circuit between his voice and his mind. He hadn't meant to admit that to anyone other than himself. He wasn't supposed to love Madison, especially not so soon after losing Jess. It wasn't cheating, but it almost felt like it.

"God, Sam. I didn't… I mean you never…" Dean said with more than just a little surprise. He hadn't realized Sam's feeling ran so deep for Madison, but he should've seen it. Sam wasn't one for casual flings; he never had been.

"Never what, Dean? Told you?" Sam asked with impatience and indignation.

Sam clenched his fists in time with the throbs of rolling rage that coursed through him. He wanted to scream at Dean - to hold his head still as he let the words tear into him. But he knew it wouldn't accomplish anything, especially now. Madison was dead, Fate deciding the course of action for him. Sam never had to make the choice between his happiness and what he knew he had to do with his life.

He reigned himself in and chose his words carefully as he spoke, "Would it have changed anything, Dean? Would you have let me stay?"

Dean looked at his brother for a second before he picked up the shovel and turned his attention back to pushing the dirt into the hole it came from. He knew they both didn't need to actually hear the answer to know what it was.

Dean would never have let Sam stay there. He would've come up with some excuse about needing Sam to watch his back while they were hunting, but he _really_ needed Sam to be where he could see him. It was irrational, but Dean couldn't shake the thought that if he could keep his brother in his sights, he could protect him - the only thing that remained of his family.

_You're all I have left, Sammy,_ he thought to himself. The twinges of remorse and loss began shortly there after. It wasn't an unusual feeling these days. It was probably the only one he still could feel lately.

As much as Dean pretended he was okay since Dad had sacrificed his life for his own, he knew he was anything but just that. The guilt of everything had left him feeling empty and confused about everything he had thought he understood about life.

Sam had called him lucky and told him to count his blessings, but Dean couldn't help but wonder why. Why him? Why did his life mean anything more than someone else's?

This wasn't the first time Dean had struggled with this weight - the decisions that determined life and death. The whole fake faith healer fiasco had left Dean's world upended for a while too. It bothered him, but it wasn't quite so personal then; a complete stranger had more or less traded heart's with Dean then - a trade that had cost the other man his life.

Then there was Layla. The reaper had come for Dean to heal the woman's cancer. It felt almost like poetic justice to the elder Winchester then. He had been given a second chance by borrowing someone else's life. Why shouldn't he have to repay the favor for someone else?

But Sam had freed the reaper, preventing Dean from dying and dooming Layla to the fate that awaited her. It had pinned him, a crushing weight of his own disappointment matched by the weight of his relief at the time. He had felt lucky, but so incredibly guilty. Layla had been asking to be saved for months, whereas Dean had merely shown up once and been healed. Where was her justice? Why had Dean's complete lack of faith been rewarded where Layla's faith and been punished?

…and then there was Dad.

Dean jumped slightly at the sound of dirt being moved out of rhythm with his own. He was surprised to see that the hole had filled itself into something just slightly deeper than a depression in such a short amount of time. When he glanced up, he saw Sam working wordlessly beside him and he smiled weakly when his brother caught his glance.

"So where did you disappear off to before?" Dean asked, not entirely ready to have the heart to heart with Sam that he knew needed to happen.

Sam, in turn, shook his head and recognized the deflection, but knew not to press.

"I told you," he said with a bit of strain as he continued to work, "Edgar Allan Poe's memorial's here. I want to pay my respects."

"Poe? You mean like," Dean paused, wiping his dirt covered sleeve across his forehead and leaving a trail, "'Late upon a midnight dreary' Poe?"

Sam froze mid-scoop and looked at Dean.

"What?" Dean asked, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Sam continued, "Nothing, Dean. I'm just surprised you know his work."

"I read from time to time," Dean shot back scooping up the last bits of the dirt and adding it to the filling grave.

"Hustler doesn't count, Dean," Sam quipped.

"Oh, ha, ha, jackass," Dean countered, sending his brother an appreciative smirk.

The brother's packed down the freshly turned earth to make it as inconspicuous as possible. They knew it was pretty much pointless though. There was a big patch of deep muddy brown in the middle of a field of yellow-green grass. Yea, _no one_ would notice that…

"Did ya find him at least?" Dean asked after a moment of companionable silence.

Sam shook his head and started picking up the supplies that lay in a neat pile on the ground near their latest successful salt and burn. He didn't want to admit that he had probably stalked off in the wrong direction, his infallible compass skewed a bit with the north star hidden behind the clouds overhead.

"Let's find it then," Dean said, swinging his shovel onto his shoulder like a he would've done with a rifle.

Sam blinked at Dean in surprise. After the way Dean had been riding his thin nerves to the breaking point, Sam was a little suspicious of his brother's seemingly innocent intentions.

"Yea?" Sam asked, excitement at seeing Poe's grave starting to take hold.

"Yea," Dean answered with a genuine smile, "When in Rome, right? Let's just get all this crap back to the car first."

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

The Winchesters never made it to the car as, much to Dean's chagrin and Sam's embarrassment, the famed poet's grave met them before their '67 Chevy did. Dean had pinned Sam with a look and pursed lips that screamed inappropriate laughter.

"Dean," Sam shot as a warning.

"What? You don't find irony funny, Sammy?" Dean asked as innocently as possible. The dangerous gleam in his brother's silvery green eyes told Dean he was failing.

"I just don't see how this situation is ironic, Dean," Sam shot back. It was an obvious lie. Of course this situation was ironic. If Sam hadn't been the one to miss the grave marker entirely, he would've thought it was hilarious too. Unfortunately, he _had_ walked right past it and Dean had noticed instead of the other way around.

"Okay, fine," Dean said. He wasn't ready to let this one go. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. He licked his lips before he continued, "Its _not_ ironic that you didn't notice the big grave with the big bird sitting in the little circle at the top of it. It's friggin' hilarious!"

Sam stared at his brother with a face devoid of anything. It was a silent plea for him to stop and drop it. He saw the flicker on Dean's face as he debated whether or not to continue. Sam was grateful when his brother picked the "middle ground" option with his response.

"Seriously, Sam. You don't think it kinda… Oh, I dunno, stands out?"

Sam scanned the area as Dean watched and another flood of humiliation hit his system. It was the largest marker around…and also the only one with a raven embossed into the top of it. Now that he thought about it, it was kind of pathetic that he had missed such an obvious landmark.

"Whatever," Sam muttered as he put down everything in his hands and approached the carved granite prism.

A chill pranced up and down his vertebrae as he stood before the memorial and read.

_EDGAR ALLAN POE_

_FROM_

_OCTOBER 9, 1849_

_UNTIL_

_NOVEMBER 17, 1875_

Sam squinted at the marker trying to make sense of it. He spoke more to himself than to Dean, but he spoke none the less, "That's not right."

"What's that?" Dean asked, coming up even with his brother. The same shiver trailed up and down his spine as they stood shoulder to shoulder.

"The dates. They're not right," Sam said, pointing to the grave.

Dean read the dates and turned back to his brother. Sam would notice something as trivial as someone's dates. Hell, only Sam would memorize someone's dates in the first place.

"So? Its just a marker. A memorial," Dean said.

"Yea, I know Dean," Sam spit out with a slight edge, "but why wouldn't they put real dates on the marker?"

"Beat's the hell outta me," Dean replied. He turned away, picking up the supplies Sam had carried earlier, leaving one of the shovels. Dean shot a glance at his watch and was pleased to see it was only 2:30.

"C'mon, Sam. Let's get an early night tonight."

Sam nodded, not breaking eye contact with the marker. It was thrilling almost as much as it was disappointing. He loved Poe, but he'd never tell Dean that. After all, the guy wrote mostly in prose and poetry. It was far from manly in style, but the subject matter was often grim and dark. To Sam, it was an intriguing and enthralling blend.

With a last glance at the marker and a bit of a nod in tribute towards the raven at the top, Sam turned away, picked up the shovel on the ground and followed his brother back to the Impala.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean flopped down on his bed, warm and refreshed after a nice steamy shower. He felt relaxed and happy, which was saying a lot given the circumstances lately. He faintly registered the sounds of Sam typing and clicking away at internet versions of obituaries in search of their next case.

In fact, Dean didn't hear Sam announce a new hunt. He never heard Sam chuckle as he was found, passed out on his stomach and oblivious to the world. He did, however, dream.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

_It was late, the sky mottled with angry clouds threatening to spill their contents as Dean pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. Everything was calm and clear for the time being, but he knew it wouldn't last long. He stifled a tired yawn in his fist as he cut the engine._

_The door to the Impala creaked as he opened and closed it. Dean softly patted the hood as he walked past, ignoring the immediate response to wipe off the finger prints that he probably had left behind. It wouldn't completely ruin the paint job if he left it for the night._

_The hotel room was empty, just like he had left it, when he arrived. Nothing had been disturbed, not even the pile of mud encrusted clothes near the corner. At least the motel staff had listened to him for once. Cleaning service was always a bad idea, especially when Dean had a knife hidden under his pillow in case of emergency._

_He started peeling the damp clothes from his body. The sweaty, musky smell of man wafting through the air. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but it definitely made Dean feel a little less than fresh._

_He started undoing the button on his jeans when he heard the door to his room open and close behind him. A familiar gait slid towards him and a smile graced his lips as a pair of soft, feminine hands wrapped around his torso._

"_Hello, lover," cooed Cassie as she pressed her chest against his back._

_Dean's smile grew as her face pressed against his shoulder blades and he stilled his hands…for the time being that is._

"_Cassie."_

_The word left his mouth in a heady breath instead of the surprised declaration he had intended. Her name left his lips as a lover's whisper, one that made the woman smile against his back and kiss the flesh exposed to her._

_Dean tensed, feeling heat spread through his body and curl in very pleasant places. He placed his hands over hers, their comfortable pressure trailing paths against his chest, and gently pulled them away._

_Their fingers intertwined for a moment and then broke contact completely as he turned and wrapped his toned arms around her lithe waist. She shivered against him and he felt a pressure pooling low in his belly._

_Fire._

_It exploded abruptly and without warning within him. Dean claimed her lips hungrily. He had missed her, needed this. The contact, the physical passion. He groaned as their tongues battled._

_Gently, yet firmly, he pushed her back until her legs met the foot of his cheap motel bed. He threw her down without enough force to hurt, only startle. He smiled wickedly as she gasped in pleasant surprise. It was a power play and they both knew it. But this is what she wanted…and they both knew that too._

_Cassie disposed of her shirt in one fluid motion, leaving her completely bare from the waist up much to Dean's delight. He licked his lips and bent towards the bed, towards her, his amulet swinging as he crawled. They locked lips again with a passionate, smoldering kiss._

_Dean leaned back, pinning her legs beneath him as he ran his hands from her chest down to her hips, savoring the silky feel beneath his palms. Goosebumps jumped up where ever his touch went, making him smile smugly at the effect he had on her._

_It wasn't more than two minutes later that they both were nude, taking in the sight of each other - memorizing curves and sculpted muscles. Dean ached with need and was pleased to see Cassie's eyes filled with the same lust._

_Slowly, he lowered himself over her taking as much of his weight on his arms as he could. He stared into her deep brown eyes, getting lost as he pressed against her, dominating her frame as she wrapped her legs around his waist._

_The rhythm was slow, gentle and tender. They both shook with the effort to keep themselves contained - in control of the magma like passion that was boiling just below the surface._

_He kissed and nipped at her neck and the sensitive spot just below her ear as they moved. They were one and it was beautiful._

_Energy, momentum, speed. It was building, climbing and spiraling around them. Sweat glistened in the moonlight as it spilled in the cracks of the blinds. It didn't shy away from the lovers as they danced their intimate tango._

_Dean panted, his neck buried into the crook of her shoulder and neck as he bucked, momentarily losing control, before picking up the pace. The soft gasps and mewls jumping from Cassie's lips egged him on._

_Without warning, Cassie shifted, flipping and dominating the situation. She pinned his arms above his head as she took control of their actions. Dean gasped, his eyes closing of their own accord as she swiveled above him. It was bliss and she was so close to taking him to paradise with her._

_Cassie leaned in and licked under Dean's jaw. That's when everything changed. Any control they had slipped away completely as she began to squirm above him. She rocked, her grip on his wrists loosening as her eyes closed and she bit her lip._

_Not missing the cue, Dean sat up and wrapped his arms tightly around her, moved with her, pressed her impossibly closer to him. Adding to the crest of the waves as they swept into their private beach, Dean picked them up and scattered them amongst an explosion of stars and complete ecstasy._

_They fell together, Cassie resting her head against Dean's chest as they lay there glowing._

"_Was she worth it?," she husked in his ear._

_Dean blinked at her, lazily, not understanding why she would bring up someone else after the amazing sex they had just had._

"_What? Who?"_

"_Lenore," she said again, lifting her head and pulling his arms off of her body._

_Dean raised himself to his elbows and watched as she quickly got dressed, a sad expression etched into her face._

"_Lenore?" Dean asked in confusion. This wasn't making any sense. _

"_What? No round two? Cassie?" Dean asked, attempting a crude joke to get a rise out of her._

…_but she wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Dean felt the panic rise to near suffocating levels. This wasn't how it ended. This wasn't how it was supposed to end._

"_Nevermore," she said as she kissed him softly, a tear melting into the kiss, making it bitter in more than one way._

_Dean's eyes widened in shock as Cassie began to melt away, becoming transparent, as she hovered inches away from him. Tears streamed down her face as she reached out to take his hand. He knew that tears tracked down his face to as he reached out to take hers as well._

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean awoke with a start, panting and covered in sweat. Thankfully, that was the only evidence of his…ahem…pleasant little dream of his. He ran his hand over his face and thought for a moment, a sudden aching filling his heart.

Maybe the dream hadn't been completely pleasant. He knew it had been incredibly hot and unexpected, but it reminded him of Cassie. It reminded him of how he had hurt her when he left, even if she had been the one to throw him out of her life.

She had hurt him too, which sucked more because it was the first time Dean had honestly been totally willing to have something more with her than just a casual thing. As hard as he tried to show her what she meant to him, she had shoved back just as hard to have him out of her life.

She didn't trust him or the way he seemed to disappear during the night. She had suspected - accused - him of living a double life and Dean had denied it. He knew he _was_ living that double life she thought he was, but not in the way she thought he did. He had loved her, but she had thought there was someone else.

_Women_, Dean thought derisively to himself as he checked the bright red glow on the nightstand by his bed. It was a little after 10 o'clock.

He took a deep breath and stretched a bit, pleasantly surprised to find the muscles he had overtaxed yesterday to be pain free. Hauling himself up, he picked his jeans up off the floor and took the loose change from his pocket. He pawed at it, counting it while walking out the door and heading to the soda machine he had seen around the corner last night.

He was surprised to see how overcast it was today after it had been so beautiful yesterday. Dean studied the clouds and was sorry to see that some were much darker than others; it was almost certainly a sign that rain was eminent.

Dean started stuffing quarters and dimes into the soda machine as soon as he reached his destination. They clattered away inside the machinery, sorting into tubes as Dean paused to review the selection. He settled on Dr. Pepper, his finger poised to jab at the button when a short "caw" behind him made him turn.

There was a crow strutting around near the sidewalk, its black eyes shining as it took in the sight of the bed-headed hunter. Without warning, the crow inched towards Dean, eyeing him curiously as it approached. Dean's brows wrinkled as he watched it. He had never seen a bird act like this before.

Without warning, the crow plunged its beak at Dean's feet, making the man yelp and jump in surprise. However, he laughed a moment later when he saw the ebony bird holding a French fry, practically a pancake now from heavy foot traffic, in its beak.

"Well, I'll be," Dean mumbled to himself, pressing the Dr. Pepper button as the crow leapt into the air and flew off into the dreary day.

Dean slurped happily at his drink despite the fact that it wasn't Dr. Pepper like it was supposed to be. The sickly sweet flavor of Mountain Dew ran over his taste buds as he entered their room. He wasn't surprised to see Sam awake.

"Mornin', sunshine!" Dean called out, shutting the door behind him.

Sam only responded by waving his hand in a shooing motion before collapsing his head into both of his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

"Somethin' wrong?" Dean asked, sitting on his bed, facing his brother with a mild dose of concern etched into his features.

"Think I'm comin' down with something," he muttered back. Dean winced at the hoarse quality of his brother's voice, but didn't mention it.

"You don't sound too good," Dean saed with sympathy. If its one thing a Winchester absolutely abhors - other than the beasts and ghouls that try to take innocent lives, that is - it's a good old fashioned rhinovirus.

Sam eyed his brother out from under the shadows of the hair that flopped in his face. Not feeling so well would be a mild oversight at this point. His joints ached, his muscles were sore and there was a nice little headache building up behind his eyes. Maybe, knowing his luck, he had caught a flu or something.

That would go over like a ton of bricks.

"Think we could get some breakfast in ya and then maybe skip town?" Dean asked, finishing off the can of Mountain Dew as he spoke.

Sam thought about it for a moment, then sat up, stretching. His shoulder popped at the movement and even Dean winced at the sound of it.

"Yea," Sam responded, choosing to ignore the way Dean eyed him like he was about to fall over, and stood, "I'll just try to sleep in the car."

Dean nodded in happy approval.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Breakfast was mediocre at best, but the coffee had been some of the best they ever had at a small town diner. They were cruising now, headed north towards upstate New York. Apparently Sam had found reports of the Headless Horseman plaguing Sleepy Hollow.

Dean hoped it wasn't the hoax it sounded like it might be. He sighed as another cassette came to an end. Ordinarily, he would've just let the tape flip from side A to B and back ad naseum, but this particular album reminded him of the time he shared with Cassie. Dean opted to free himself from his heartache for a while and popped in a mix. He smiled as a little AC/DC crooned away through the speakers.

Sam had been out since they hit the highway and practically comatose by the looks of it now. Dean didn't like the way his face had started to flush either. Maybe Sam really was coming down with something. If that were the case, he'd need to rest in a real bed, not the front seat of the Impala.

Almost as if he knew Dean was worrying about him, Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open and he bolted upright in his seat. His eyes were wild with panic, flitting from detail to detail to understand what was going on.

"Calm down, Sam," Dean said with mild amusement, "Its only New Jersey."

Sam's brows wrinkled in confusion as he spoke cautiously, "How long was I asleep?"

Dean smiled and looked at his brother for a second, "A while."

Sam nodded, understanding his brother's short hand for "long enough to have missed some tolls and a few rest stops." Sam felt like complete crap again and that dream of his? Definitely sending shivers up and down his spine.

…It had nothing to do with the fever he knew he had.

"You don't look so good, Sammy," Dean declared. He was careful to keep too much of the concern he felt from leaking into his voice.

"It's Sam," the younger brother started, "And I'm fine. Really."

Sam watched as Dean nodded, thoroughly unconvinced, and kept his attention on the traffic that was rapidly thickening around them. Sam let his thoughts drift back to the dream or rather _nightmare_ he had just had.

It had been dark and shadowy, really depressing. Sam was fairly certain that he had been sitting in a study or something of the like. There had been a fire roaring away happily in its fireplace, but it didn't really cast out the heavy feeling that pressed in on him even now. He closed his eyes to help himself recall bits and pieces of detail that might help tell him more.

There had been a statue of a goddess, right? It seemed oddly familiar…or that it should be familiar. Someone else familiar had been there too. He realized with a heavy heart that Madison had been there…as a ghost. He shifted himself, scooting down into the seat, which only pinned his knees uncomfortably against the dashboard; a flash of something dark entered his memory. It was a bird. Actually it was more than that. It was a raven.

_Probably there because I just visited Poe's memorial._

Sam shrugged it off, not really registering that he was shivering. Dean didn't miss it though. As his giant of a brother dozed off, Dean turned up the heat and searched for any exit signs that said "lodging."

* * *

**A/N:** Well then! Now that _that's_ out of my system...  
Please let me know what you think!

xoTrebleMaker


	2. October 4th

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural isn't mine. Neither is the poem that I have included in this update. It belongs to the estate of Edgar Allan Poe. I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue me for it!

* * *

**[October 4th****, 2007]**

_The knock at the door startled him out of a sound sleep, one the likes of which he hadn't experienced in days. He sat up, yawning and stretching leisurely, knowing full well who would be at the door and what they would want._

_Sam threw off his covers, casting a fleeting glance to the empty spot next to him. Madison would've been there if she hadn't stopped him from trying to get rid of the demon. Actually, it was a hellcat - something grotesque in nature that tried to pass itself off as a mortal feline. It had almost fooled Sam too; its inky black fur was thick and fluffy, hiding the musculature that would have given it away immediately. It had even managed to perfect the golden hue of its host's eyes._

_But Madison had chosen to protect it when Sam had gone after it with an axe dipped in holy water. She had gotten in the way, changed by the cycle of the moon, and refused to let Sam anywhere near the damned thing. He had had to kill her to get past her and to the hellcat…_

…_and then the beast had gotten away. He'd have to call Dean and start another hunt for it in the morning._

_He threw on a sweatshirt as he took the short journey down the hallway and to the front door. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled the door open. The officers were standing there as he had anticipated._

"_Officers?" Sam asked, a bit of his sleep clinging to his voice._

"_Sorry to trouble you so late," began the tallest of the four, "but we need to search the premises for clues of Madison Owens' disappearance."_

_Sam shifted, a look of confusion on his face; it was all an act, of course. He had killed her and walled her into the basement of their home. There was no way she would ever be found and he would never be caught._

"_So late at night?" Sam asked, shifting so that the officers could enter the house._

_They hesitated for a moment, glancing amongst themselves conspiratorially. It was clear to Sam that they no longer suspected Madison to be a missing person. They knew that she was dead - suspected she had been murdered. The tallest officer nodded once to Sam, clearly leading his fellow investigators, before entering the home._

_They mine as well have gone through his house with a fine tooth comb. They inspected every detail they could think of including sifting through the flour and sugar jars in case a piece of the woman they clearly suspected to be deceased were to appear._

_Sam leaned against the wall, his face and body language the epitome of the word calm. Inwardly, he was a tad nervous, but mostly thrilled that he was pulling the entire stunt off. He had done his fair share of wiping down fingerprints, scuffing away foot prints and even burning physical evidence when he lived on the road with his brother. That had been years ago, before he proposed to Madison and settled into her nice quiet suburban home alongside her._

_Of course, he hadn't given up hunting. However, he had simplified the routine and chosen to only hunt within a certain distance from his home - to protect the life that he had worked hard to build. A life that he had shattered in one swing of an axe that cleaved his lover's skull in two. But they were nowhere near the body and they would never find her. His plan was too perfect._

"_Sir, we'd like to search the basement," the officer who had identified himself as Grady said, effectively pulling Sam from deep within his own thoughts._

_Sam nodded, leading the way to the basement stairs and entering the dark, dank cellar himself. The officers were hot on his heels._

_Again Sam slouched against the wall with nothing but the faint traces of his slumber clinging to his visage. Little did they know that the wall he leaned against was freshly built under his power. Little did they know exactly what it concealed._

"_Everything seems to be in order," said one of the officers from behind a large stack of boxes._

"_Well then," started the first officer that had spoken to him at the front door, "Sorry to have troubled you in the middle of the night then."_

_Sam smiled and shook the officer's hand. He felt a rush coursing through him, one that demanded he say something just so he could flaunt it in their faces._

"_Its no problem. I'm glad we've gotten it all settled," he began, shuffling his feet along the basement floor. He yawned widely before he continued, "This house was built in the early 1700s. Its amazing that its so solid, don't you think?"_

_The officers smiled at him, not quite sure what to make of the information he was sharing with them._

"_You couldn't take this wall down even if you wanted to," Sam said, bending over and grabbing a copper pipe that lay on the floor. He held it in one hand and smiled before he swung hard at the wall nearest him - the one containing the body._

"_See?" he asked with smug satisfaction._

_It was all he could do not to fall apart at the sound that tore through the air moments later. It was low, guttural and completely devoid of anything human; it sent shivers down Sam's spine and he was familiar with it. The look of absolute horror marred each of the officer's faces._

_The police leapt into action. One officer shoved Sam hard into the wall, pinning him there and reciting his rights as the handcuffs were snapped closed at his wrists; the metal chafed as Sam tugged to assess his odds of escape. The other three law enforcers were hard at work demolishing the wall which fell apart with ease. Sam panted, delirious with fear at the sudden revelation._

_He shouldn't have been caught. That noise, that _growl_. It shouldn't be there. There was no way she could be alive. Then again, he hadn't used silver…but still! Her head had been split! Nothing could survive that! Not even a werewolf!_

_He turned his head as the police that had dropped the wall yelled in fear and surprise. He looked on in complete horror at the sight himself as it unraveled before him._

_There was Madison, a golden gleam to her eyes that had nothing to do with the werewolf trapped within her system. The body of the black beast, the hell cat that Sam had meant to tell his brother about in the morning, lay lifeless at her side._

_The demon had lived and managed to give away Sam's crime. Worst of all, the demon was possessing Madison, damning her in a way far worse than the beast she hadn't known she was._

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Sam bolted upright, his breaths coming in erratic gasps. It took him a moment to suppress his fight or flight instinct enough to take in his surroundings; sluggish comprehension pulled the motel room into focus, pushing out the apartment he had recognized from his dream, one he had hoped to never see again after the tragedy that had occurred there - Madison's.

A faint buzzing sound caught his attention. Sam looked for its source, choosing to blame the offending noise maker in jolting him from his sleep instead of the nightmare. His eyes opened wider to take in as much light as the room had to offer and Sam tried to find his phone.

It was on the night stand, shaking away like it was the end of the world. Sam grabbed it without hesitation and pressed a few buttons to turn off the alarm. He'd forgotten he had set it to go off at 6:30 and was honestly a little surprised that it hadn't disturbed Dean.

At least, he was pretty sure it hadn't woken his brother…

When Sam glanced to the bed next to his, he just about had a panic attack. Dean wasn't there. Fortunately, the raspy sound coming from the small kitchenette just beyond that caught his attention before Sam had a chance to do anything drastic. He looked over and would have laughed if it didn't mean waking his older brother for certain.

There was Dean at the small round table. Asleep. Head resting on one arm. The other arm draped over the keys of his laptop. And he was _snoring_.

Sam wouldn't be surprised if Dean's neck or jaw was sore after this little stunt. He also wouldn't be surprised if Dean had managed to drool all over himself.

A yawn brought Sam's attention back to his own well being and he ran a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught in a few tangles along the way. He didn't quite remember getting out of the car or a even good portion of the car ride itself for that matter. He had obviously slept through the majority of it, but he must've been pretty out of it when Dean had pulled up to this new place.

Looking down, Sam wasn't surprised to find that he was still in his jeans and blue t-shirt from yesterday. Dean must've managed to get him into the room while he was half asleep; he was little perturbed and grateful that Dean hadn't tried to get him into something to sleep in.

Questions began jockeying for attention, dancing behind Sam's eyes, but one in particular leapt out above all the others. Sam shifted and took in his surroundings as he contemplated the answer.

_What state did we stop in?_

Sam stretched again and shivered slightly. He couldn't possibly fathom a guess at this point. He didn't know how long they had even been in the car, which would have helped him estimate their location. Hell, he didn't even know what the name of this motel was!

He'd just have to bug Dean about it later, when he was actually awake.

The younger Winchester shrugged his shoulders experimentally. His muscles didn't ache as badly as they had yesterday. Neither did his joints for that matter. However, the dry stretched feeling of his skin and the heat that was drying his eyes told him that he still had a fever - one that seemed to be getting worse.

With a grunt, Sam heaved himself to his feet. The sudden fatigue and the annoying headache hit him without warning and he nearly swooned at the shock of it. He paused for a moment, adjusting to the sudden lightheadedness and the crushing pressure working in tandem against his skull, before continuing his trek to his duffel. He found it at the foot of his bed, tossed haphazardly by his older brother much in the same way Dean would toss his own.

Sam tore it open, the cacophony of his surprise headache ramping up his nerves and causing him to more or less manhandle the thing. He searched for fresh boxers and a new t-shirt. His jeans would survive another day of abuse. Mission accomplished, Sam dragged his feet over to the bathroom. He was through his routine in under thirty minutes.

Towel running over his head to dry his hair, Sam hunted down his sneakers, finding them half under his bed, and jammed them onto his feet without ceremony. Sam was more than just a little cranky now. He had hoped the shower would refresh him. Instead, it had made his headache worse and also managed to aggravate his skin which was flushed from his fever already. Sam sighed and knew he should probably pick up some Tylenol to stash in his pocket for a few days. At least it would make him functional.

Once he finished tying his shoes, Sam stood and scanned the room for a note pad that most little motel rooms like this came with. He spotted it by his brother, littered with scribbles already in the form of names and dates. He chuckled softly at Dean's sloppy work; he had never quite been able to navigate his way through his brother's hunting notes. Then again, all that really mattered is that Dean understood what it meant and could put it to good use.

Sam grabbed the little pad and flipped to the next available page, tearing the sheet out to use for himself. He jotted down a quick note that he was out picking up breakfast, placed the pad exactly where he had found it and the note on the laptop screen where Dean couldn't possibly miss it.

With that taken care of, Sam was out the door.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Sam walked quickly, his jacket zipped up to keep the brisk fall air from tickling his skin anymore than it already was. He had wandered aimlessly for about ten minutes, hoping to chance across a place to eat, before thinking to ask someone for directions. By that time, Sam had added a convenience store to the list as well. His head was absolutely killing him.

The elderly woman that Sam had happened upon had been quite helpful, giving him the name of a few convenience stores in addition to coffee shops. Unfortunately, he had also picked a lonely woman that wanted nothing more than someone with which to have a conversation. After about fifteen minutes of chatter about how she had a few lovely granddaughters that a young man such as himself should talk to, Sam had pretended that he had a call that he just _had_ to take. The ploy had worked and the kind old woman had moved on without complaint.

Sam held his phone to his ear, looking back at the woman who smiled and waved at him. He returned the gesture and turned the corner, stashing the phone as soon as he was out of sight.

The sign for Super Plus - a convenience store with a small over the counter pharmacy - came into view in no more than a few strides later. Sam pressed forward, eyes on the prize, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his gaze.

Sitting there, at the edge of a narrow alleyway next to the store, was a fluffy black cat.

Sam blinked a few times in disbelief. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have noticed the furry feline, but after the dream he had woken up to this morning, Sam eyed the creature as though it _were_ a demon. It mewled a soft, high pitched sound and Sam knew right away that it was a young cat - definitely older than a kitten, but not quite full grown. It turned languidly and began trotting back the way it had come.

He swallowed and glanced around. The street was empty. No one would notice if he followed after the thing like some crazy cat guy bent on taking the critter home as a pet.

Sam took a few steps, keeping his pace even until he was level with the alley, before he turned sharply and streaked off behind the cat. He glanced behind himself once - walking backwards - checking that no one had seen him duck down the narrow walkway. His feet crunched over old newspapers and cardboard boxes already bent out of shape as he followed behind the creature, jogging turning into a flat out sprint as it widened the gap between them. The cat turned another corner, leading its pursuer behind the buildings that lined the street, and vanished from sight as Sam made his appearance.

He skidded to a stop, thinking that, quite possibly, he had hallucinated the feline completely. He ran a hand through his hair, his hand stilling on the back of his head, and turned to leave, a little perturbed by his own actions, when he heard it. It was faint at first, but definitely there.

A mewling howl was coming from behind the wall.

He turned slowly, his curiosity winning out over the complete disbelief that this could actually be happening. Sure, Sam was used to his freaky premonitions, but this was something different entirely. Dreams were subconscious thoughts coming to light during the night, not predictions about future events; this was all too coincidental for Sam's liking.

He swallowed and ducked down, searching for a loose brick in the wall.

Instead, Sam found a hole that had been blocked by a flimsy cardboard box. He pulled it away, his heart pounding as he thought of the glowing yellow eyes he had seen in his dream. They had been Madison's eyes filled with the hellcat's golden gaze; although he knew it was impossible, he feared that he would see those same eyes glaring at him from the dark.

What he saw, after carefully getting himself in check, put a smile on his face and filled him with a horrendous case of the warm fuzzies. There were five kittens sleeping in a big pig pile in the corner. Three of them were black, one was a calico and the last one appeared to be a tabby. Sam smiled and reached his hand in to pet them when he heard a sharp hissing noise and recoiled immediately.

The fluffy cat that led him down the alley way stood there, ready to protect her offspring.

"Okay, okay," Sam said as soothingly as he could, retreating slowly and cautiously from what was obviously her little den.

Sam stood slowly, Mama cat stepping between him and her young. Her back was arched and she stood sideways to make herself appear as large as possible. Sam would have laughed at the fact that she looked like a stereotypical Halloween cat, but he was having a hard time finding any of this funny. For all he knew, Mama cat wasn't just mad; maybe she was sick.

Once he was a safe distance from the den, Sam turned and walked normally back to the sidewalk. He turned once, gazing at the hole in the wall, but turned abruptly away from the sight. Yellow eyes were staring back at him, an eerie reminder of the nightmare from the night before.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

"No extra charge," the red head at the register said earnestly as she pushed away Sam's money.

Sam pulled his hand away and tossed the folded bills into the paper cup with the shop name scribbled out in exchange for the word "TIPS" in a swirling scrawl with black ink as he spoke, "Well, aren't you sweet."

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied, slipping to the left and out of sight behind the espresso machine. The wink she shot him a less than subtle reminder that her words were heavy with double meaning.

Sam blushed and ran a hand through his hair nervously. He was never one to make small talk and the general concept of flirting was something that had always made him more than a little timid; he usually preferred the quiet protection anonymity gave him when he rolled into a new town. However, this young woman - Nora, as her name tag declared in bold plastic letters - had talked him up and openly flirted with him since he had walked through the door. Sam had, surprisingly, reciprocated - or at least tried to.

He was definitely getting himself in over his head.

A sad smile curled its way onto Sam's lips. Of course, this girl was attractive, but she was more Dean's kind of girl - the one that may be out for more than a one-night affair, but would use sex as a weapon to get what she was after. She had gumption and a spark that Sam definitely found attractive, but she didn't have that magnetism about her that drove him wild. That and his lingering feelings for a certain someone weren't exactly ready to let him go.

He was cut off from that line of thinking as Nora appeared in front of him with a steaming cup of something that smelled absolutely divine. Spicy and sweet, just like she had promised. It was just what Sam had been craving; the bitter realization hitting him squarely in his chest like a lead balloon as he understood why.

It reminded him of Madison. His heart clenched as he pushed thoughts of her away. This shouldn't be so hard.

"What'd you say you put in this again?" Sam asked, taking the cup from her hands. He didn't miss the way her fingers grazed his just a little longer than was normal. He took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue, and found that the flavor was… Absolutely. Perfect.

She smiled at him, her eyes dancing from his eyes to his lips and back before she said, "Cinnamon and vanilla. The perfect blend of naughty and nice, don't you think?"

Sam froze, staring openly at the woman and was grateful that there was a counter between them; he wasn't entirely sure Nora would be keeping her hands to herself at this point if there weren't. He could feel the subtle heat coming off of his cheeks that had little to do with the fever he knew he had - the Tylenol he procured at the little mini mart earlier and swallowed on the way over to this place had seen to that.

"Uhh. Yea," Sam said awkwardly through his embarrassment, "It tastes great."

Nora flashed him another smile, clearly not understanding that her advances were making the handsome man before her completely uncomfortable.

Sam cleared his throat and crinkled the bag containing a pumpkin spice muffin for himself and a couple of glazed donuts for his brother in an attempt to hold both the bag and his brother's no nonsense coffee. The noise caused Nora to break her gaze and take in the movement of his hands instead. Sam seized the opportunity it bought him.

"Thanks for the upgrade," he said, taking another sip for effect.

He watched as comprehension dawned on Nora and she raised her hand in farewell. Sam turned, raising the hand with his delicious drink in return; he pushed the look of sadness on her features to the back of his mind.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean sat on his bed, firearms and hunting knives laid out in a neat row at his side as he scrutinized their every detail. The chore needed to be done, but the extreme attention he was giving it was just his last ditch attempt to block out what he had woken up to minutes ago.

He picked up the machete that he had procured from one hunt or another and ran his thumb along the flat of the blade. It was sharp, but not nearly sharp enough. Dean flicked his green gaze to the whetstone resting against his hip and grabbed it to begin the process of enhancing the blade.

His mind drifted sooner than he would have liked. The monotony of his task sheltering his mind for a only a few moments before her voice drifted back to him.

"_Maybe I would accept your story if you weren't lying, Dean!"_

_The conversation had taken a turn for the worst as soon as Dean said he hadn't been sneaking around into other women's beds. Maybe he should've left out the whole "I know you think I'm cheating on you, but I'm not" preamble. It seemed to have done nothing more than weaken his already shaky argument._

"_Dammit, Cassie. I'm not lying, alright? It what I do! What I am! I'm a hunter!"_

He turned the blade over, inspecting the same edge on the opposite side. It gleamed in the morning sunlight that tried to steal its way through the blinds. He began drawing the stone over the blade in long, practiced strokes as the memory skipped ahead a few moments.

"_Just tell me the truth, Dean!"_

"_Cassie, please," he begged now, openly and unabashedly, "I'm telling you the truth. Just listen to me!"_

"_You honestly expect me to believe that you're out late at night killing ghosts and ghouls and…and…what? Bigfoot?"_

"_Actually, Bigfoot is just a myth," he offered with a crooked smile before he could stop himself. The snort and angry laughter coming from the first woman he had honestly offered his heart affirmed exactly why he shouldn't have let that sarcastic little jibe leave his lips._

Dean tossed the whetstone down, watching as it hit a spring in the mattress and jumped back into the air before resettling itself near his knee. He put down the machete and sat still for a moment, trying to accept the past hoping to finally put it to rest.

He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but she hadn't wanted to hear the truth of the matter either. Finally, with frustration, Dean had just agreed with her and said that there was someone else. Her heart had shattered because she thought she knew the truth all along. His shattered because she had willingly accepted the lie.

It took all of his self control when she had called him more than a year ago, when she finally found herself the victim of her own haunting, to keep old feelings under control. He had been surprised when her name flashed on the caller ID and even hesitated to pick up the call. However, when he gave in and heard her voice, desperate and afraid, he knew he had to help her.

Dean had helped her (with Sam's aid, of course). All of the skepticism she had for anything paranormal completely wiped away with the personal experience. When Dean had arrived, seen her for the first time since she had evicted him from her life, her eyes begged him to forgive her. He had forgiven her, albeit angrily and without much sincerity at first.

…and then they had kissed and everything flooded back. They had made love that night too. It wasn't just a hook up, at least not in Dean's book; it just made it that much worse when, for the second time, they had had to say goodbye.

Dean sighed, hanging his head as the motel room door opened. He glanced up as Sam walked in, paper bag hanging from between his teeth, a cup of coffee in one hand and the door knob in the other.

"'Bout time you got back," Dean said, abruptly ending any and all memories of Cassie for good.

Sam rolled his eyes, picked up his coffee from the ground and shut the door behind him with his foot. He stalked over to the kitchenette, putting down both caffeinated beverages and grabbing the paper bag from his mouth.

"Yea, yea," he said, taking the muffin from the bag for himself before tossing it in his brother's general direction. A soft crinkle affirmed that Dean had caught it without Sam having to look at him.

"There's a coffee over here for you too," Sam said as he peeled away the paper on his breakfast and took a bite.

Dean nodded, putting down the paper bag without inspection. He eyed the other knife that needed some attention but let his hands stray to one of the guns at his side instead. He turned his attention to his brother, who had taken a seat in front of the lap top, with caution and concern. Sam's pallor was pale and the shadows that marred the tender skin under his eyes only amplified it with stark contrast.

"You feelin' any better, Sasquatch?" Dean asked, pulling apart one of the smaller guns in their artillery and wiping it down with a cloth. He knew the answer, but asked for the sake of conversation.

Sam, however, didn't bother looking up as he lied.

"Uh, yea, Dean. Feel great."

Dean paused and looked at his kid brother from under his brow as he spoke, "Uh huh. And I'm the friggin' virgin Mary."

Sam looked up at his brother ready to glare at him, but Dean's previous statement had caught him so completely off guard that all he could do was laugh. A tired smile tugged at Dean's lips as well.

"At least you're admitting you're a girl," Sam quirked in response.

"Oh, Ha, Ha," Dean griped with a roll of his eyes.

He resumed cleaning the gun in his hands, scraping off a tiny piece of debris with his nail. The sound of a maraca brought his attention back to his brother, who was holding up a bottle of Tylenol and shaking it. Dean nodded in confirmation while Sam sipped at his coffee and pretended to check his email.

"Fever's that bad?" Dean asked as he reassembled the weapon and placed it down on the bed.

Sam chewed up his mouthful of pumpkin muffin before he said, "Dean, I can take care of a fever. I'm not a kid."

Dean merely nodded and tried not to notice as Sam lowered the intensity of the light on the laptop… Or the way Sam turned and stretched his neck as if the muscles were still sore… Or the way his brother's head kept drooping as if he hadn't slept solidly in a few nights…

_He's probably got the flu,_ he thought to himself as he picked up another weapon to clean.

"I know," Dean said, wiping down another gun, "but if you're sick, its not a good idea to hunt. Rule number one, right, Sammy?"

Sam put his coffee down, blinking at the computer screen as words seemed to unravel and reassemble themselves into phrases and prose he thought he knew from somewhere...

He blinked one last time, relieved as the words snapped back into place and responded, "Its Sam."

"Whatever, college boy," Dean replied, "I still think we should take a day or two to rest."

Sam looked up at his brother, "Why? Because I picked up some random virus? I'm fine, Dean! I can still do the job!"

Dean finished cleaning the hand gun, avoiding eye contact with his younger brother, a scowl planted firmly to his features. He knew his brother was probably just fine - that he was worrying needlessly about him. However, it was hard for Dean to throw off the feeling that Sam was going to get a lot worse before he got better. He blamed his protective older brother instincts whirring away in overdrive.

"Tell you what, Sammy," Dean said as he reassembled the hand gun and placed it on the bed, "We'll go restock our supplies and see how you feel after that."

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. It felt almost like the deals Dean used to force his brother to make with him when they were both kids.

"Supplies?"

Dean started packing up the weapons he had out as he spoke, "Yea. We're runnin' low on salt and matches. You know. Supplies."

Sam smiled and nodded. If anything, it would help to distract him like the jaunt around town had too. He glanced at the laptop, ready to sign out of his email account when he froze completely.

Somehow the browser had navigated itself to a poem that Sam was very familiar with. He gulped as a few lines jumped out at him with a ferocity akin to only that of a hell hound.

"_Hear the tolling of the bells-_

_Iron bells!_

What_ a world of solemn thought their monody compels!"_

Sam blinked and just as suddenly as the browser had jumped to the poem, it fixated itself on his inbox once again.

_No way, _he thought to himself, _there's just no way…_

"Sam?"

Sam jumped at Dean's voice and looked up, surprised to see his brother looking down at him with concern etched into his face. He hadn't heard Dean get up. He hadn't even heard him grab the coffee off the table either, which freaked him out because it was right next to him.

"What, Dean?"

Dean gave his brother a serious, appraising look, "I just asked if you were ready to go."

"Oh," Sam replied, shutting the laptop without shutting it down, "Yea, let's go."

Dean watched as his brother, jittery with some kind of unspoken anxiety, closed his precious laptop without turning it off first. It was definitely out of character and Dean didn't like it.

"You sure you're up for this?" Dean asked.

Sam only gave his brother a look and they both left the hotel without another word.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean had watched Sam like a hawk throughout the store, careful not to be discovered, but almost failing twice before he had purchased his supplies. He kept his concern in check, not saying a word to his brother who had started to sweat at some point between the check out register and the journey through the parking lot. He even managed to keep his mouth shut when his brother's shoulders seemed to sag and his silvery green eyes grew bright with what Dean knew was a worsening fever.

However, when Sam started to mutter under his breath during the drive back to the motel, Dean couldn't keep quiet anymore. He didn't catch everything Sam was saying, but the words he did catch were strange and antiquated. Some of them even rhymed.

"Who the hell you talkin' to, Sam?"

Sam looked at Dean, his eyes clearing to coherency at his words. His voice was quiet as he spoke, "Huh?"

Dean snorted a bit with frustrated laughter. It was pretty obvious that he had chosen wisely to pay for a few days stay at the motel. They clearly weren't going anywhere for a while, no matter what Sam tried to say about it.

"Never mind, Sammy," Dean said.

"It's Sam," retorted the younger Winchester with a note of resigned anger.

_Finally! There he is,_ Dean thought to himself.

A comfortable silence settled between them, one that was broken by Sam's voice a few miles before they reached their destination.

"I've been having weird dreams again, Dean," he started, "Nightmares."

Dean stared straight ahead, caught off guard by his brother's sudden honesty. He spoke with a softness to his voice reserved for conversations like this, "What? Like your freaky Jedi mind tricks?"

Sam looked at his brother, not liking the way his head was starting to throb as the light from outside assaulted his pupils from around the outline of his brother.

"Yes and no. Its hard to explain… I mean, they happen. The dreams, I mean, in some weird, coincidental way, but… They're… I dunno, different," Sam replied.

Dean met his brother's gaze as he questioned, "Different how, exactly?"

Sam took a breath, "Okay, like this morning. I dreamed that I was hunting down a hellcat that looked almost flawlessly like an everyday, run of the mill, black cat."

Dean could sense the word hanging from his brother who had gone silent. He prompted, "And?"

"And… I just so happened to run into a black cat while I was out getting breakfast this morning."

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously before turning his attention back to the road. He eased the Impala to a stop as the light hanging in the air shifted from yellow to red. Their motel could be seen up ahead to the right.

"So?" he asked. Dean could see how it was a little weird and kind of creepy, but sometimes coincidences were exactly that - coincidences.

"And the night before," Sam continued as the Impala lurched forward, "I was in a study that had a fireplace and there was a statue with a crow on it and… I dunno, Dean. It just… It feels… weird. Wrong, somehow."

Weird was an understatement, Sam decided, but there wasn't anything else that he could find right now to describe it.

Dean blinked in surprise at the mention of the word crow. Hadn't he seen a crow yesterday morning?

"Did you say a crow?" he asked, signaling right to pull into the motel parking lot, simultaneously easing the car in that direction.

"Yea, Dean. Why?" Sam asked, suddenly tense.

Dean shook his head and shrugged, "I had one try to take my toe off yesterday morning is all. It's just funny that you should bring it up."

Sam paled at Dean's words, a nagging idea coupled with a bad feeling clinging to his gut, "Was it a big crow?"

Dean arched an eyebrow and barked out a chuckle as he pulled into a parking spot just outside their door. His voice was loud without the purr of the engine as he said, "Um, well, yea Ranger Rick. I guess it was kinda big for a crow. Why?"

Sam swallowed and ran a hand across his now clammy brow, "It was a raven."

"You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to," Dean replied, the Impala door creaking open with his words.

"You're missing the point," Sam said. He didn't need Dean poking fun at him for knowing that a raven was always a type of crow but that a crow wasn't necessarily a raven.

The back door creaked open under Dean's hand and Sam heard his brother's voice somewhere behind him as he opened his own door, "So what's the point, geek boy?"

Sam ignored the jibe and answered, "I think we're reliving the plots from his stories."

Plastic crinkled behind Sam's ear as Dean grabbed the goodies he had bought for himself. The disbelief in the older Winchester's voice was not missed by Sam when he said, "Who's stories, Sam?"

"Edgar Allan Poe's," Sam replied.

The sound of Dean's laughter was barely muffled by the sound of the Impala's door closing and Sam had to admit that he a hard time believing the words himself.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean reclined on his bed, remote in one hand, a bag of peanut M&M's in the other. The reception in the room wasn't bad, but Dean still couldn't find anymore than three or four channels that came in clear enough to actually watch them. He settled on a monster movie marathon filled with B-list actors and monsters that he hunted on a regular basis. The clickety-clack of Sam working away at the laptop starting to irritate him now that he was no longer busy changing from one channel to the next.

A wolf howled somewhere in the room, stilling Sam's fingers for a moment. He looked at the TV as the dripping words of "The Wolf Man" shimmered onto the screen and wiggled away. He glared at his brother who had the audacity to leave the channel on despite last weeks escapade.

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam asked, anxiety over his research and the pulsing headache that had barely dulled with the Tylenol putting him on edge.

Dean looked at the TV and rolled his eyes, trying to feign irritation over his brother's obvious sensitivity to the subject matter. It was the perfect cover for the guilt that rolled through him and he changed the channel to some melodrama spinning away in Spanish.

"Better?" he grouched to his younger sibling.

Sam only nodded with a smile of gratitude hanging from his lips. He stretched briefly and scanned the list of websites Google provided him once again.

So far, Sam's searches were coming up empty and it did little to ease the tension thrumming through him. He paused for a moment, drumming his fingers along the table top, and thought of a new tactic.

He typed quickly and hit enter when the box said what he wanted. Google jumped to life and supplied Sam with a few links. He was just about to click on the first one, not really caring that it was a wikipedia article, when the brief description beneath the second link caught his eye.

_The death of Edgar Allan Poe on October 7, 1849, has remained mysterious…_

He clicked the second link, his intuition immediately beginning to squirm uncomfortably in his gut. He knew he was on to something.

The page loaded quickly and Sam dove into the article without a second thought. He turned his mind off, immediately disconnecting himself from the information as he began to scribble down important details on the same notepad his brother had used earlier.

When he was finished, his compiled list looked something as follows:

- Edgar Allan Poe (1/19/1809 - 10/7/1849)  
- Found sick 10/3/1849 - taken to Washington College Hospital (Died there 10/7/1849 5am)  
-Buried under memorial in Westminster Burying grounds 1849  
-Grave moved 1875 - wrong body?  
-Cause of death unknown - suicide, murder, cholera, rabies, syphilis, flu, ?

Sam read the list over and over with all sorts of paranormal phenomena coming to mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought.

_It could be Poe's spirit haunting me, __because its mad that someone else is buried under the new memorial…_

"Sam."

_Or because of what I did to Madison…_

"Sam."

_Or maybe it has something to do with how he died…_

_When did he die again? October 3rd? No wait, that's when he got sick..._

_When did I get sick? What was the date?  
_

"Sammy!" Dean practically shouted, shaking his brother's shoulder to get him to snap out of it.

Sam blinked, angry with Dean for breaking into his train of thought. He had been so close to figuring it out - to finding the missing link!

"What?" Sam snapped back before he could stop himself. When he caught Dean's gaze, he could only watch as his brother's carefully placed mask slipped and the fear he wanted to hide began to leak through.

"Dean, what… Why are you…" Sam fought for the right words.

Dean ran a hand over his face as he tried to settle his nerves. His voice was tense when he spoke.

"Sam, you were talking and…and writing. You wouldn't stop."

Sam froze in shock and disbelief. He hadn't been doing anything other than research and he had been so close to figuring it out! However, when Sam glanced back at the laptop, his already pale complexion became whiter.

Instead of his internet browser displayed on the screen as he had expected, there was an open word document. A document with a poem in it.

Sam's eyes danced over the poem, trying to deny what was so obviously there.

"_Hear the tolling of the bells-_

_Iron bells!_

What_ a world of solemn thought their monody compels!_

_In the silence of the night,_

_How we shiver with affright_

_At the melancholy meaning of the tone!_

_For every sound that floats_

_From the rust within their throats_

_Is a groan._

_And the people - ah the people_

_They that dwell up in the steeple,_

_All alone,_

_And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,_

_In that muffled monotone,_

_Feel a glory in so rolling_

_On the human heart a stone -_

_They are neither man nor woman-_

_They are neither brute nor human-_

_They are Ghouls;-_

_And their king it is who tolls:-_

_And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls_

_A Paean from the bells!_

_And his merry bosom swells_

_With the Paean of the bells!_

_And he dances and he yells;_

_Keeping time, time, time,_

_In a sort of Runic rhyme,_

_To the Paean of the bells-_

_Of the bells:-_

_Keeping time, time, time,_

_In a sort of Runic rhyme,_

_To the throbbing of the bells-_

_Of the bells, bells, bells-_

_To the sobbing of the bells:-_

_Keeping time, time, time,_

_As he knells, knells, knells,_

_In a happy Runic rhyme,_

_To the rolling of the bells-_

_Of the bells, bells, bells:_

_To the rolling of the bells-_

_Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,_

_Bells, bells, bells-_

_To the moaning and the groaning of the bells."_

"Sam," Dean said again, hesitation and uncertainty clinging to him and making Sam uncomfortable.

"Its…it's part of The Bells," Sam said, instantly recognizing exactly which poem it was and what it meant.

"You don't say," Dean said, hoping the sarcasm would lighten the mood. He was still a little freaked out by his brother's sudden trance and the eerie voice that slithered its way from his throat like a snake. It was so like his brother's, yet so unlike it that it sent a chill straight through him at the memory of it alone.

As soon as he heard the words - their cadence and the repetition - he had jumped into action. Dean had gotten up, the monster movie marathon long forgotten, and tried to get his brother to snap out of it. He didn't succeed until his brother's fingers had finally stopped working away at the keys and the eerie voice had stopped narrating the work as he typed.

"Dean, the fourth part from the whole thing," Sam continued as sweat began to drip from his brow and his clothes clung to him. Dean couldn't tell if his brother was that afraid or if his fever was getting that much worse. Either way, it terrified Dean to watch his brother unravel. This whole thing was getting ridiculous.

"So?" Dean asked, not really familiar with the poem. He did, however, have a sneaky suspicion that it was an Edgar Allan Poe creation.

"It's the last one in the cycle," Sam continued, "The one about death."

"How the hell you get death out of bells, Sammy?"

Sam got up and lunged towards his duffel. He scrambled through it, searching for the thick leather bound book that he carried with him everywhere. It was heavy and often cumbersome, but it contained some of Sam's favorite poetry and stories. He heaved the book out of the bag and ran a hand over the cover. The embossed letter easily traceable with his fingers - The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. He never thought it would come in so handy as it was about to today.

He flipped through the thin pages, mindful not to tear them, until he found the poem he was looking for. Sam didn't waste time thrusting it into his brother's hands there after.

"Ok, so the first one talks about tinkling bells. Happy bells," he said as he paced the small area between the beds and the kitchenette.

Dean read through the first poem quickly. The description of the bells reminded him of winter and of what their Christmas's should've been like. The merriment and the joy. He voiced his bittersweet monologue out loud.

"Reminds me of sleigh bells."

Sam nodded, his hand working its way through his hair as he breathed heavily and tried to walk faster to catch up with his thoughts. He spoke quickly, practically stumbling over his words, "The whole first part is about birth. That's why the bell sound is small and bright. It's all symbolic."

Dean nodded and started reading the second one to distract himself from his brother's pacing.

"The second one talks about golden bells. Wedding bells. Still happy, but heavier," Sam continued, not noticing the way Dean nodded his head in confirmation of his words.

Sam paused his movements and stared at Dean, who was busy reading the third portion of the poem.

"Any guesses on the third part?"

Dean skimmed the remainder of the poem, placing a finger where the fourth began to look up at his brother.

"Warning bells. Literally and figuratively," Dean said simply. He watched as Sam nodded.

"See the pattern yet?" Sam asked, beginning to pace again. His heart was racing at the weight of what he knew he was saying out loud.

Dean's brow wrinkled in thought. He turned back to the fourth chunk of the poem and his eyes widened in shock at the comprehension.

"You typed up this last part," he said quietly.

"Yea, Dean," Sam said quietly as he continued to pace, "It's the last part of the cycle. The end."

Dean read the poem intently, not liking the weight of it or any of its implications. He knew it was a literary metaphor. He knew that the "Ghoul" mentioned in the poem wasn't actually a ghoul, but the idea of something fiendish. Dean knew what the entire poem actually meant and he didn't like it one bit.

He looked up at Sam not missing the way his brother had punctuated the very last part of his sentence. It sent a shiver down his back at the implication and in conjunction with the poetry, the weight of it felt lethal. This couldn't be happening.

"Dean, I'm…I'm gonna-"

"Don't say it, Sam," Dean cut in with an aggressiveness to his words that shocked even himself. He just couldn't hear it right now, not so soon after Dad.

"I'm g-"

"Sam," Dean cut in again as a warning, but his brother's voice echoed over his own.

"I'm gonna die."

* * *

**A/N:** Another update, another one on the way. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Your comments/reviews give me something to look forward to!

xoTrebleMaker


	3. October 5th

**Disclaimer: **Still Kripke's characters. Still Poe's works. I only figured out how to mix the two together.

**A/N: **A quick note. Thanks for the reviews guys! I really enjoy reading your feedback. It gives me something to look forward to and also motivates me to finish my fics. So, without further delay. He's another installment...

* * *

**[October 5****th****, 2007]**

Dean yawned and glanced at the clock on the task bar of the computer. It was just a little after two o'clock in the morning, but Sam had gone to bed hours ago. He was surprised his little brother could sleep after he unwittingly plagiarized Poe's poem, one that more or less promised his untimely death.

Then again, Sam's fever was still climbing which meant his body was working tirelessly to get rid of whatever was taxing it. Dean was getting seriously worried about it too. They hadn't been around anyone sick lately, so the odds of Sam picking up a garden variety flu was slim at this point. …and with the arrival of the fourth cycle of The Bells, Dean was beginning to think that Sam had picked up a curse that acted like an illness, but was actually a paranormal fueled _something_. He just needed to figure out exactly something meant.

So here he was, eyes dry and tired from picking up where Sam had left off. So far, Dean hadn't made much progress past the point his brother had either.

The elder Winchester stood, stretching to relieve the ache that had filled his muscles from sitting still for so long. He took in his surroundings, trying to give his eyes a minute or two to focus on something that was less than two feet in front of him. Unfortunately, that meant Dean's gaze settled on the sleeping form of his brother and the worry really settled in.

He walked stiffly over to his brother, trying to rid the tension from his legs. As he neared, he was grateful to see that his brother was still asleep; however, the light sheen of sweat that rested against his skin meant one of two things - either the fever was worse or it had broken.

Dean placed the back of his hand against his brother's forehead. He removed it slowly, almost skeptically, as though the fever would return if he moved too quickly. He sighed and smiled with relief. If the fever was gone, that meant the worst of this whole thing was over. At least he hoped so.

He dragged his feet back over to the small kitchenette table and sat down with a soft grunt. Dean sat poised to tackle the internet once more in the hopes of finding something new, but Sam's notes caught his attention.

Dean scanned them, the bullet notes Sam had used making them clear, concise and easy to understand. Dean blinked at the notes, willing them to tell him something other than the obvious. Almost as in response to his wish, a memory popped into his mind in the form of his brother's voice.

"_The dates. They're not right…"_

Green eyes darted over the facts and a soft "huh" of contemplation left his lips as he took them in. He smacked his lips together thoughtfully and typed "Poe's Memorial" into Google, hoping to get an image of the marker they had both seen yesterday.

He smiled with smug satisfaction as it popped up. With a well aimed click, Dean began perusing the website and a larger version of the image appeared on the screen. The dates glared back at him - October 9, 1849 to November 17, 1875. Dean's brain began to whir away, thinking rationally and in a logical pattern that could help explain some of what was going on.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, "Poe died October 7th in 1849. Take a couple a days to get him ready for his underground apartment. I'd say that would make the 9th a good day to move in."

He tore out the back page of the note pad and started writing up a timeline to help himself think as he continued to talk himself through the process. Scrawling the day of death and the day of burial, Dean glanced back at the memorial on the computer screen and wrote the next date down.

"So, November 11th, twenty-some-odd-years later, they dig him up and move him. Maybe he's pissed that he was evicted."

Dean jotted down his line of thinking, a note about a possible angry spirit, and wiggled the pen he was using between his fingers as he finished. He tossed it down on the table and leaned back, his mind hitting a dead end.

Obviously, he was missing something, and if he didn't figure it out…

He shut his eyes and shook his head to physically shake off the thought. He couldn't think about that right now. There was no way he was losing his brother too. Family meant everything - defined him, gave him purpose. He would be lost without Sam.

A sudden chill made Dean shiver and his teeth chatter. He glanced around, not hearing the ancient AC turn on. His face was alight with confusion as the radiator vent hummed away, clearly piping heat into the room.

_That's weird,_ he mused.

His thoughts, however, were drawn away as a jaw cracking yawn pulled at his mouth. He checked the clock again, unhappy with himself for being tired at the early hour of 2:30. With a sigh, he hauled himself out of his chair and took the six strides necessary to flop down on his bed.

He turned himself over so that he was resting on his stomach before he tucked his arm under his pillow to grasp the knife hidden there. He snuggled his face into the pillow and was out before the clock hit 2:31.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

_The festivities were loud and raucous, causing Sam to cover his ears. Naturally, the bar was dimly lit and he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the jesters and witches and other flamboyant costumes._

_He hated this holiday and always had. He hated Halloween._

_Sam rubbed his palm against his jeans to rid it of its moisture as he looked around. Everything was festive and cheerful, but the colors were wrong. There was no black or orange. There were no jack-o-lanterns or bats or even the traditional shape of a black cat against a full moon._

_This bar was littered with purples, greens and golds. Something felt off, but he didn't question it. It was still the time of year that he hated._

_A hand against his arm caught his attention, its soft pressure one that he knew well. He knew who it was before she even spoke._

"_No costume, Sam?"_

_Sam smiled simply because he couldn't help himself as he wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's waist possessively._

"_No, Jess," he replied, "You know I hate this holiday."_

"_Aww, c'mon Sammy," she said, "You can't even dress up as a clown for one night? Not even for little ol' me?"_

_Sam smiled at her, the arm around her waist squeezing slightly in affection._

"_Sorry, Jess. I just don't do Halloween. Besides," he said pulling her closer, wrapping both arms around her from behind, "I'm too serious to be the _court_ jester."_

_A mirthful laughter tumbled from her lips and Sam found himself absolutely entranced. He couldn't figure out for the life of him how he had gotten so lucky to have her._

"_What would I do without you?" he asked, planting a kiss on her lips._

_She smiled and bopped his nose playfully as she said simply, "Crash and burn."_

_She whisked herself away from him then, disappearing into the crowd, no doubt in search of some spirits in liquid form. Sam glanced around again, somewhat on edge, and walked over to their usual table._

_A familiar face greeted him there, one of his classmates that had introduced him to Jess._

"_Hey, Brady," Sam said as he took a seat, back to the wall more out of habit than anything else._

"_Hey, Sam," Brady replied with a feral glint to his eye that went unnoticed by the younger Winchester. His voice was calm as he spoke, "You get into that frat yet?"_

_Sam shook his head and chuckled. The lilt of it carried into his voice, "Nah, man. You know I don't have time for that stuff."_

_Sam looked up, catching a sparkle in Brady's eye that both scared and intrigued him._

"_What?" he asked._

_Brady leaned in, casting his gaze about as if he were about to disclose the biggest secret in the world. His voice was quiet as he asked, "What if I told you I could get you in?"_

_Sam quirked an eyebrow, not sure if his friend was joking with him or not._

"_You serious?"_

_Brady sat up, a smug smirk on his face as he nodded._

_Sam looked around, weighing his options with a hand over his mouth. He never saw the way Brady's eyes glinted with mirthless glee._

"_Alright, let's do it," Sam said, rising from the table._

_Brady followed suit and lead him from the bar. It was only a four minute walk to the mausoleum and everything had been prepared. He could feel the energy thrumming through him. His revenge would be exacted tonight._

_Sam shivered as the entered the dank building. Obviously, he was looking at some sort of hazing ritual. He just hoped it wouldn't be too extreme._

"_What do I have to do?" he asked, looking around and taking in the sight of decaying corpses without much thought._

"_Just stand over there," Brady said, pointing to a niche in one of the walls, "And I'll do the rest."_

_Sam gulped, the familiar feelings of anxiety pulsing through him as he strode to the little cutout his friend had motioned towards. At once, Sam found himself against a wall, held there tightly by one of his closest friends._

"_The hell?" he yelped angrily as Brady grabbed his wrists and shackled him to the wall._

"_Brady! The hell kind of hazing is this!"_

_A menacing laugh cut through Sam. It was the only answer he ever got before he heard the scraping sound of rock against rock. Minutes passed and Sam could do little more than stand there. The shackles bit into his skin mercilessly as he turned his wrists and tugged in an attempt to free himself; however, the light behind him slowly shrank until he was completely surrounded by pitch black._

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

The sound of the door closing woke Dean. He turned quickly, his knife clasped tightly in his hands as he took in his surroundings, expecting to see some kind of intruder. When he saw that there was none, he wiped his face with his hand and placed the knife back under his pillow. He lay down on his side for a moment and checked his watch.

It was only 11:30.

"Ugh, I hate mornings," he said, expecting the usual quip from Sam involving Dean's inability to function properly before the crack of noon.

What he heard, however, was absolute silence.

"Sam?" he asked, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder. He jumped up at the sight of an empty bed.

"Sammy," he half yelled, half muttered, his sleep addled brain keeping his mouth from working properly, as he pulled himself to his feet, searching the room for some kind of note. His brother never went anywhere without a note or a call or a text or something. Anything!

Dean rifled through the notes he left out last night and found Sam's scrawl on the back of his time line.

_Dean,_

_Went to the initiation. The jester costume is in the closet._

_I hate Halloween._

_Sam_

Dean read the note again and again, trying to make sense of it. If it was a code for "help me, I'm in danger," then Sam sure had a weird way of expressing it. None of the code words or key phrases they had established were in it.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, scrambling to find his jeans from the previous day. He pulled them on quickly and shoved his boots on his feet. He raced to the door and tore it open, eyes looking frantically for any signs of his brother walking away into the distance.

He took a step forward and nearly tripped as his foot caught on something solid. When he looked down, the dizzying rush of relief flooded his system. There was Sam, passed out on the doorstep.

"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty," Dean said as he bent over and shook Sam's arm violently; the heat beginning to pour from his brother's body did not go unnoticed by the elder Winchester. However, his concern over the obvious return of a vicious fever fell away from Dean with a smirk as his brother jerked awake, eyes bleary; Sam looked around to take in his surroundings.

"Dean?"

Dean stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets and merely looked down at his brother in complete baffled, amusement. Sam had never sleep-walked before in his life. It both worried and amused him greatly.

"Yea, Sammy?"

Sam looked around, the feel of the cement sidewalk grating uncomfortably against his skin. He blinked back the morning light that met his eyes, but he couldn't miss the sight of the Impala somewhere to his left.

"Why am I outside?"

Dean shrugged and said, "You tell me."

Sam sat up, squinting against the sunlight. He scratched his chest and then froze. Dean's smile grew as Sam realized he wasn't wearing anything more than his boxers.

"Crap!" Sam said as he shot up and darted back into the room.

Dean laughed, momentarily forgetting to worry, as the embarrassing situation his brother had gotten himself into overshadowed all else.

"Aww, c'mon, Sammy," Dean said, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him, "It's not so bad."

"Easy for you to say!"

Dean's gruff laughter echoed throughout the room as Sam sat down at the kitchenette, completely bewildered. He couldn't remember going outside. He couldn't remember anything other than falling asleep last night to the sounds of his brother typing and clicking away at the laptop.

Sam hunched over the table, his head resting in his hands as he looked at the papers littered across its surface. His hand writing glared back at him from somewhere in the mix almost like the punch line to some untold joke. He picked up the paper, sitting up to read it.

He read it through twice more before he held it up to his brother.

"What the hell?"

Dean, perched on his bed once again, snacked away at his M&M's and paused mid crunch to look at his brother. The note in his brother's hand made his panic return; he finished the mouthful of his candy before he spoke.

"I dunno, Sam," he started, rising from the bed with one hand closed around a few M&Ms. He pointed at the note, "You left that this morning when you decided to take a stroll."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's obvious nonchalance about the whole situation. It wasn't that Dean didn't care about what was happening. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Dean was worried and to keep his feelings safe, he pretended that the whole situation was just one big ball of humor.

Sam thought it was kind of funny too. Except for the whole waking up outside in his boxers thing.

"Halloween," Sam murmured rereading the note he left. It didn't make sense. Halloween was a few weeks off. That and Poe didn't write any stories that took place around Halloween.

"Hey, I was just as confused as you," Dean cut in, grabbing Sam's note and looking at the timeline he had started making last night. His eyebrow arched as he flipped the paper and read his brother's note again.

"Especially when you said something about a jester costume," Dean added.

"Yea, I caught that," Sam responded, taking note of Dean's handiwork on the reverse side of his bizarre note. He nibbled on the inside of his lip a little when it suddenly dawned on him.

"Of course," Sam said, shaking his head, "I hate Halloween, but there's another holiday you dress up for."

Dean looked at his brother like he was crazy.

"That's the only one that I know," Dean said with a shrug.

"What about Mardi Gras?" Sam asked.

Dean waggled his eyebrows before he said, "I dunno, Sammy. Girls usually don't dress _up_ around that time of year, ya know?"

"Right," Sam responded, letting his brother's comment fade, "But it would explain why my dream felt like Halloween, but didn't have the right colors in it."

"Another weird dream?" Dean asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Sam nodded before his brow wrinkled in confusion, "Yea, but it was different. Jess was there instead of Madison."

"Wait, you've been having dreams about Madison?" Dean asked. His brother hadn't mentioned that before. It almost made his dream seem more important somehow, too.

Before he could stop himself, Dean blurted, "Huh. Wonder if that means my dream was important."

"Your dream, Dean?" Sam asked with just a hint of an incredulous air. His eyebrows raised as he continued, "You never said anything about weird dreams before."

"Didn't think it was important," Dean replied, a smug smirk attaching to his face as he continued, "Besides, the content was a little more than R rated, if you know what I mean."

Sam rolled his eyes and he spoke after a moment, his voice heavy with frustration.

"Yea, Dean. Great image. Thanks for that."

Dean just shrugged with a smirk tugging at his lips, "Hey, you asked."

"Actually, Dean. I didn't," Sam shot back, "But I have a hunch… that it was someone you knew?"

Dean sat on his bed again, digging through his bag of M&Ms as if it were the most important thing on the planet at that point in time. Sam could sense the awkward tension, but he couldn't for the life of him understand why. He knew for a fact that Dean Winchester was certainly not shy or embarrassed about sex - dream or otherwise.

"Uh, yea," he said, not catching his brother's gaze. His voice softened as he continued, "It was Cassie."

Sam's brows knitted together as he tried to remember exactly who Cassie was; the fact that his brother didn't exactly shy away from one night stands made it even more difficult to place her. However, a thought struck Sam.

"She was your girlfriend?" Sam asked trying to keep the note of surprise from his voice.

Dean glanced at Sam, torn between wanting to tear into Sam for not believing he could be in a relationship and trying to keep thoughts of his ex from bothering him.

"Yea? And?" he asked with more harsh a tone than was necessary.

"Wait. Cassie?" Sam asked, the connection suddenly clear to him as he continued, "As in _Cassie, _Cassie. From Missouri? The ghost truck incident?"

"Yea," Dean replied, looking away from his brother and rubbing his hands together. His voice was rough when he spoke next.

"It was a long time ago."

Sam wanted to explode in triumph. He had told Dean that there was something more there when he had met the woman himself, but his brother had denied it. His eyes sparkled and his lips pulled at the corners until he took in the sight of his older brother. Dean was looking at the ground, his face an impassive wave of stoicism. However, it was the way he played with the silver ring on his finger that told Sam not to dwell on the matter too much; the nervous gesture was a silent testimony to his discomfort.

"So things didn't end well?" Sam asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Dean's snorted a dark chuckle before he looked up. Sam was shocked to see the way his eyes seemed to darken from green to some shade between that and hazel. He was also surprised to see that they were flat and empty.

"No, Sammy," Dean said, "They didn't."

Dean squirmed a little where he sat. He could feel the questions hanging in the air and he knew that the conversation he had been trying to avoid since Madison's death was moments away from happening.

_Better get this over with,_ he encouraged himself.

"She thought there was someone else," Dean mumbled with a sad smile.

Sam could only look at his brother. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, let alone the fact that he _was_ hearing it. It was a very rare occurrence that Dean was this open.

"Well, was there?" Sam asked before he could keep the thoughts to himself. Dean's glare, filled with anger and betrayal, made Sam wish he hadn't said anything at all.

"Of course not!" Dean shot back with hurt dripping from his words. He shook his head, mouth agape for a moment before he continued, "Jesus, Sam. My own brother doesn't even believe me?"

Did no one believe he was capable of being faithful?

Sam didn't know what to say. He couldn't take the words back and both Winchesters knew that, but the damage he had inflicted upon his brother with a few words stung worse than the sweat that was beginning to run into his eyes. Sam felt like that's all he ever did to his big brother - unintentionally hurt him.

"Dean, I didn't…" Sam tried, but his found his words fading away as Dean's eyes met his.

"I know, Sam," Dean said, understanding Sam's need to apologize, "I tried to tell her the truth, you know? 'Bout what I do. What I am, 'cause I had a hunt to take care of."

Dean sighed sadly before he plunged onwards, "But she thought I was crazy and demanded the truth. It was just easier to just tell her what her mind had already decided was true."

Sam nodded, remembering the way he had carefully guarded himself from Jessica when he had met her. He remembered the way he had vowed to keep her safe from that side of him by never sharing it again. It had been challenging when Dean had shown up in his apartment, clinging to the shadows and riffling through his apartment like some cat burglar. …and the mention of Dad being on a hunting trip hadn't helped much either.

So they went off together as brothers and hunters like they used to when they were growing up. Sam left Jess at home, unprotected and vulnerable; although he had forgiven himself, Sam still felt the tugs of remorse and guilt as the ghost of Jess's death flittered over his mind. He couldn't completely shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault.

"That's rough, man," Sam replied, nodding in his brother's direction.

"Tell me about it," Dean replied, "You and Jess. Then you and Madison. Me and Cassie. If I didn't know any better, Sammy, I'd say Winchester men are cursed."

Sam laughed at the thought and just as suddenly found him self paralyzed with realization. His mind finally fit a puzzle piece into place that hadn't been there a moment ago. The dreams. The one's Dean and himself had had. They were the clues. They held the keys to everything.

"Maybe it _is_ a curse," Sam mumbled, losing his place in the conversation he was having with his brother.

Dean blinked and the slight shake of his head barely registered before he said the only thing that made sense for the occasion.

"What?"

"The dreams. And, and the fever," Sam said, his excitement growing as his mind whirred away, "Its gotta be a curse, Dean."

"But I don't have a fever, Sammy. And I'm not sick. How do you-"

"Did you dream about Cassie leaving you?" Sam interrupted in a burst similar to the one he had barbed his brother with earlier.

Dean tried to close himself off to the emotions tied to the question, not liking the way he was being dragged back to the past. However, the sudden chill in the air left him shivering and more emotionally vulnerable than he would've liked.

"Geez, Sam. Could you be a little more blunt next time?" Dean asked with heavy sarcasm. He expected his brother to continue to explain his revelation, but he was let down.

Dean watched his brother as he paced and a fresh wave of panic started to course through his veins. His brother's forehead was shiny in the bits of morning light that leaked into the room through the blinds. Dean also noticed, with a slight wince, that Sam's entire torso was covered in the same sheen. There was a gleam to Sam's eyes that was unnatural and almost feral; it was one that Dean knew from years of watching his little brother toss and turn with one illness or another as a kid.

"Sam, I think you should get back into bed," Dean said simply. It was obvious that his fever was on the rise again.

Sam half laughed as he continued to pace. However, it was the muttering that really started to worry the older Winchester.

"Sam?"

Dean rose to his feet and started inching his way towards his brother. If he was reading the symptoms correctly, his brother's fever was quickly getting out of control and he was heading towards delusional if he wasn't already there.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again with only a foot left until he could reach out to his brother.

Sam's head snapped up, his eyes frantic and alight with his fever. As soon as he caught Dean's gaze, the older man swallowed to try to drive away the dryness that had filled his mouth in his panic.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked.

"From childhood's hour I have not been," Sam replied with a shrug.

Dean stared for a moment, his lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn't quite sure how to interpret the words, not that he didn't understand them. It was just odd that Sam had inverted the sentence. Dean was about to comment on it, but Sam continued to speak.

"As others were-I have not seen; As others saw-I could not bring," Sam said as his voice sank into an oily tone that chilled Dean to the bones. The younger Winchester started to pace again and he grabbed at his head as if to stop the words from flowing.

"Shit," Dean mumbled as he closed the gap between himself and his brother. It was the same voice Sam had used before when he started typing up the other poem.

Sam flinched at his brother's touch, shocked by the cold of his hand. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that his fever was back and soaring past the point it had been hovering yesterday. Somewhere he _knew_ that he had to tell Dean about the voice that filled his head and sensation of hot fingers raking at his skin. He felt it now as though there were something in the room, but he couldn't fight it; it was taking control.

The headache came next, returning with twice as much force as the day before. It pounded away through his skull with the rise and fall of the words that he couldn't stop reciting. He tried to fight it, to wrench himself away from its rhythm and its hold on him, but it was almost as if someone or something else had hijacked his tongue. Sam surrendered to the little corner of his mind that remained his own and watched as though a prisoner.

"Alright, easy," Dean said soothingly as he coaxed his brother back towards his bed with a gentle hand; the searing heat radiating from his skin was much worse than it had been yesterday. Sam continued to mutter what was obviously another poem - one that Dean knew at this point was definitely Poe creation - as he managed to get him into his bed and under the covers.

Sam struggled with himself as Dean disappeared into the bathroom; words flowed freely from his lips despite his best effort to keep his mouth shut. His muscles tensed with the strain of getting in control of his own body, but there was nothing he could do. He was completely at the mercy of the curse.

His eyes wandered around the room, the faintest trace of lucidity in them as his gaze came to rest on the TV set. What he saw there in the reflection sent shockwaves of anxiety through him. There was something there with him in the reflection on the dusty screen. His words momentarily faltered as he took in the gnarled, grotesque features that marred the tiny body perched on his shoulder.

It was an imp, a tiny little bright eyed imp. It must have been attached to Poe somehow, or to his grave. It would explain everything - the poetry, the dreams loosely wrapped around the plots of Poe's stories and the fever that pulled the strength from Sam even now. Temperature shifts were their specialty, especially those that involved heat and fire.

Sam tried to recall everything he could about imps while he dodged the thing's attempt to coral him back into the deep recesses of his own mind. They were demons, but they weren't anything like their Judeo-Christian cousins that the Winchesters were well acquainted with.

Firstly, they were corporeal to some degree, but usually only seen in reflections as quick flickers of movement. They couldn't actually possess anyone either. It wasn't that they lacked in strength to take over a host, but they simply weren't from the same plane of existence. That's why they attached themselves to people or, more commonly, objects people frequently came in contact with.

They were fae - the ugly version of the cute little winged sprites and fairies that everyone recognized from stories like Peter Pan and A Midsummer Night's Dream. Because of that, the little bastards could get through carefully placed salt lines like the ones at the door and windows of their motel room with no problem; fae folk were only damaged by iron, even the pure form found in blood, although the red substance usually was only good for working spells and sigils against them.

They were also very playful in the only way Fae folk knew how to play - with spite and malice.

A groan fell from Sam's lips as he squirmed. The little imp dug his fingers into his flesh sending ripples of searing heat through his body as it deepened the connection to its victim. Sam had to let Dean know that the ugly little fairy-world demon was attached to him. He had to let him know that it wasn't a curse, but something much easier to deal with if they found the right incantation.

Words started to float through the room again as Sam lost the small bit of control he had gained. Dean kept his face even as the usual tenor of his brother's voice fell farther and farther from the familiar pitch. He caught words here and there as he ducked out of the bathroom with a glass of water and a cold cloth for his brother. He returned quickly, placing the water on the night stand by the table and the damp face cloth on his brother's forehead.

Without warning, Sam's hand flew to his brother's shirt, trapping Dean where he was. His eyes, although fevered, had a gleam of coherency as he panted for a moment. The words that hit Dean's ears both shocked and perplexed him.

"Of a d-_demon_ in my view," Sam whispered out, the poem coming to an end and taking the last of his strength with it. His grip relaxed in his brother's shirt and his head slumped into the pillows and Sam resigned himself to the corner of his brain that was cool and calm.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean sat in front of the lap top - multiple search windows running simultaneously - pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as he pressed his phone to his ear with the other. Sam was still conscious, but completely delirious at this point. He muttered, gasped and groaned as he shifted restlessly in his bed. Worry at this point was a casual understatement for the amount of panic coursing through Dean's system. Even as a kid, he had never seen his brother so sick before.

It was only one in the afternoon over on the east coast, which meant it was ten or eleven where he was calling. He let out a rush of air as the line clicked to life at his ear.

"What?"

_Of course, I caught him in a bad mood, _Dean thought.

"Bobby? It's Dean," he said, dropping his hand from his face. He knew his voice was tight and settled on a pitch higher than normal. He only hoped it didn't make the older hunter worry more than was necessary.

"Well this is new. Usually its your brother callin' to get you outta one harebrained scheme or another."

A soft huff of laughter bubbled up Dean's throat at Bobby's comment. The man had always been like a father figure to the older Winchester, especially now that his biological father was gone. It gave him strength and comfort in ways that Dean could only liken to that of family.

_He is family,_ he reminded himself.

"Uh…It's Sam that needs help this time, Bobby," Dean said, turning his attention to his brother who was moving his lips in a soundless poem once again. He closed his eyes and forced himself to look at the computer screen before he continued, "I think he picked up a curse. Or something."

"Or somethin'? You don't even know for sure what your dealin' with?" Bobby asked, his voice both concerned and frustrated.

Dean sighed, his breath hitting the microphone on the phone and filling the earpiece with static before he found his voice again, "Kinda hoping you could help me out with that one."

A gruff chuckle met Dean's ears, one that he knew to mean "start talking" in Bobby-speak. So, without further hesitation, he recounted the entire story for Bobby, beginning at the civil war cannon-ghost hunt and not sparing any of the details in the cemetery. He told Bobby about the dreams, at least as much as he could remember Sam saying about his, as well as his own. It took a few minutes for Dean to tell the whole story, but Bobby listened without interruption until the man had finished.

"Your right, boy. Sounds like a curse…_or somethin',"_ Bobby said. Dean could practically hear the man's eyebrows rising to meet the bill of his baseball cap.

"It's weird though," Dean continued, "Before he… Uh. Fell asleep… He finished a poem, but it was like he was trying to tell me something else."

There was silence on the other end for a moment, before Bobby spoke, "Fell asleep or passed out?"

"Uh," Dean started, looking at Sam who was still in the weird in between state, "Its more like he's in…some kind of trance."

He hated how Bobby knew when he was keeping something from him.

"Trance, huh? And, what'd he say, exactly?"

Dean leaned back over to the computer, having found the poem his brother had been quoting before.

"Uh, he said 'Of a demon in my view'," Dean said simply, "It's the last line of a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe called 'Alone'."

The sound on the other end of the line was deafening and succeeded in making Dean very uncomfortable.

"Bobby?"

"…You said Poe, right?"

Dean didn't like the icy quality of Bobby's voice and he got the sneaking suspicion that Bobby knew exactly what they were dealing with.

"Yea, why?"

The dark chuckle that assaulted Dean's ears through the phone confirmed his fear. Bobby knew exactly what they were dealing with and it wasn't going to be fun to get rid of it.

"I gotta do a little research first, but I think you mighta bumped into one of Poe's old friends," the older hunter said at last.

"So it's not a curse?" Dean asked with relief. Those were often a bigger pain in the ass than tracking down random objects spirits sometimes attached themselves to.

"Have you even been listening to me or are you always this slow upstairs?"

"Sorry, Bobby. I think I've got more than my fair share of things on my mind over here," Dean said more than a little irritated now.

"Sounds like."

"So you gonna tell me how to get rid of the thing or what?" Dean asked with more than a hint of frustration.

"I gotta do a little research first," Bobby replied curtly before he continued, "You take care of your brother, Dean. Keep his fever down and the room cool, you hear me?"

The line cut out before Dean had a chance to answer and all at once, he knew Sam was in serious trouble.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean's stomach clenched and rumbled as his hunger announced itself once again. It was well past dinner time and the elder Winchester had refused to leave the room. His bag of peanut M&Ms had long since been finished in addition to the Twizzlers, all of the soda AND the salt & vinegar chips he had picked up at the store the other day.

As far as Dean Winchester was concerned, he was literally starving to death in the middle of New Jersey.

He had wanted to go to this crazy looking 50's themed restaurant down the street with his brother, but that was definitely not happening anytime soon.

Dean had contemplated ordering Chinese after a careful investigation of the area on the internet, but he was worried that even a moment on the phone would block Bobby's call. It was ridiculous thinking that way. Dean knew he had call waiting, but he was anxious to help his brother and didn't want to postpone anything that would help.

He peeked over at Sam, relieved that he was sleeping now instead of muttering, groaning and - at this thought, Dean cringed - writhing in pain. Seriously, whatever was happening to his brother needed to be put to an end and fast.

He turned the phone in his hands clockwise, willing Bobby to call. After another minute, however, his stomach complained again and Dean flipped his phone open and pulled a folded piece of paper from the front of Sam's hoodie pocket - the one he had hijacked after he had turned on the air-conditioning in the middle of October at Bobby's suggestion. After punching in the number, the phone chirped at his ear and someone finally answered.

"Uh yea, I'd like to place an order? …Delivery please," he said, getting out of the kitchenette chair and stalking over towards the door. He opened it and peeked outside. He knew they were in room 19, but he couldn't remember the name of this no tell motel for the life of him.

After telling the man on the other end - clearly an immigrant by his accent - that he was staying at the Bella Luna motel, he snapped his phone shut and tossed the device on his bed.

He checked his watch for what must have been the third time in five minutes. The guy on the phone said his lo mein and greasy, Americanized chicken stir fry would be there in fifteen minutes. As long as he still knew how to add, he figured his food would be there by quarter to nine at the latest.

A soft voice broke Dean from his hunger induced thoughts.

"Dean?"

His head snapped up and to the right. Sam was awake and he seemed to be himself for the first time in nearly eight hours.

"I'm right here, Sam," Dean said. At the sight of his brother searching for him frantically, Dean got up and sat himself on the edge of his brother's bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam jumped at the contact.

"Easy, Sam. You're okay, you've just got a fever, alright?"

Sam blinked, his eyes rimmed red with fever. The shadows under his eyes actually looked worse if that were at all possible and his chest was heaving with each breath his took.

"Dean. N-not…"

He sentence was cut off by an intake of breath as an intense pain lanced its way through his chest. Although he didn't turn to look, there was no doubt in his mind that the imp was using his fingers to keep him quiet and under control.

"Sam, just rest. Its okay," Dean tried to soothe. Sam's fever, although diminished, was still licking away at his skin.

He leaned over to the night stand and grabbed two Tylenol and the glass of water from the stand.

"You gotta swallow these, ok?"

Dean watched as his brother nodded in understanding and carefully pressed the pills to his brother's lips. Sam pushed himself to his elbows as Dean held the glass to his mouth next. Sam drank greedily, emptying the glass in a few gulps.

His eyes were wild as he caught Dean's gaze.

"N-Not a curse," he said. He shivered as the cold air of the room hit his skin. He was surprised when it seemed to clear the fog that had slowly but surely been taking over his head all day.

"Yea, Bobby doesn't think so either," Dean said.

Sam nodded minutely. If Bobby was helping Dean figure this out, he'd be okay. He just had to ride it out. He pushed weakly at his blankets, the cool air caressing his skin bringing more and more clarity to his thoughts. His body, however, was weak from its captor's abuse and was having a hard time obeying Sam's commands.

"'S not a curse, Dean," Sam whimpered. He could feel the fingers of the imp pinching and gliding along his skin and he knew his brother couldn't see it. Each touch coaxed the creatures name from Sam's thoughts and he had to hunt it down again.

"I know, Sam," Dean half whispered, "Get some more rest, alright?"

Sam shook his head, "'S not. Curse. It's… It's Fae. It's a… It's… GAH!"

Pain exploded within Sam's head as the imp held it in his hands. It was clear that the younger Winchester had said too much and the imp felt threatened - felt it needed to take back control.

Dean could only watch in horror as his brother clenched his jaw, the cords in his neck standing out from the strain, and he twisted the blankets around him tightly in his fists. There was absolutely nothing he could do and Dean absolutely hated it.

* * *

**A/N: **And there ya go!  
Please, PLEASE, PLEASE review and let me know what you think!  
Until next time!

xoTrebleMaker


	4. October 6th

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural is not mine. Nothing of Edgar Allan Poe's is mine either. I merely found the toys in the toy box and thought up an adventure.

* * *

**[October 6****th****, 2007]**

Dean walked slowly, his face a mask of intense concentration, as he wound his way through the aisles of the 24 hour convenience store. In all honesty, Dean Winchester _was_ focusing intently; in fact, he was pinning all of his thoughts on what he needed to purchase just to keep himself awake and aware of his surroundings. His observational skills, honed to near perfection thanks to his hunting lifestyle, were rendered practically useless at this point. He was simply that tired.

Dean narrowly avoided the corner of some shelving, his body turning awkwardly in his fatigue, as he headed down the next aisle; his boots practically scraped out his path as he dragged his feet along the ground. A yawn caught him by surprise somewhere in the vicinity of the paper goods and he raised a fist to his mouth to quell the noise of it. He blinked a few times, clearing his vision of the moisture that had popped up during his yawn, and snagged some plastic utensils that were tossed haphazardly into the basket in his hand.

A large clock at the front of the store caught his eye from over the tops of some boxes on top of the shelf and he groaned inwardly as he read the time. It was already 5:30am and he had yet to sleep. Then again, with his brother warring with some kind of supernatural virus, there was no way Dean would've been able to get some shut eye even if he tried. Sam had been so delirious with fever that Dean had done everything from cold showers to ice treatments to keep his temperature down. It was starting to get to the point that he wasn't sure if Sam should even be in the motel anymore.

For the time being, however, the fever was under control and Dean knew Sam was sleeping peacefully. He just didn't know how long that would last. A grimace marred his features as unbidden memories flooded his mind's eye. The elder Winchester knew all too well what it was like to wake up to an empty room; he was very familiar with the feeling of helpless vulnerability and had become best friends with the paranoia that could creep into one's mind with the worry of something slipping through the shadows and attacking. Of course, for their lifestyle, it was something to be expected.

It was true, though. Dean had dealt with those feelings on more occasions than he cared to remember and he would be damned if his little brother ever had to endure it himself.

The basket in the older Winchester's hand was already heavy with Gatorade, crackers and some more M&Ms when he found himself perusing the canned soups. His eyes flitted over the labels, not really taking in their letters, as he worked to squash the anxiety leeching into his system.

_Get a grip, Dean,_ he thought, _Grab what you need and go. Sam'll be fine 'til you get back._

It was hard, but Dean managed to push aside his protective older brother instincts. He knew Sam wasn't completely helpless. Hell, Sam had plenty of water within arm's reach and he was old enough to get himself more Tylenol if he needed it. Dean shrugged the tension from his shoulders as an image of his brother floated through his mind; he saw him laughing and smiling with only the carefree innocence that childhood could provide.

Sam was a long ways away from that now and Dean knew it. Sam Winchester was an adult - no longer completely innocent, no longer helpless and definitely no longer laughing and smiling with carefree joy. But to Dean, he would always be his little brother Sammy. Always.

"Whiny, little bitch too," Dean muttered under his breath.

A faint blush colored his cheeks as the words slipped out with more affection than he had intended and he glanced around self consciously. He was suddenly very grateful that it was so early in the day and no customers were within the store's confines with him.

He grabbed a few cans of chicken noodle soup and added them to the basket. They had been Sam's request in the few minutes of coherency he had had before he had fallen asleep. Dean had been relieved when his brother had snapped out of his trance like state following his delirium. He had even gone as far as to drop his fork full of stir fry back into the plastic container it had come in with complete shock.

Dean stood in the soup aisle, fingers skimming along the tin cylinders as the entire two minutes with Sam drifted through his thoughts.

"_Dean?"_

"_Take it easy, Sammy. I'm right here."_

_Dean practically tripped over himself to get to his brother's side. He hated himself for showing his weakness and obvious concern, but his brother had that effect on him. He always had and he probably always would._

_He watched as Sam wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and frowned at the sticky friction that the motion across his fevered brow created._

"_It's Sam," his brother grumped._

_Dean smiled weakly, amused and relieved that his brother was back for the time being. He didn't know how long it would last, though, and that set the gnawing sensation of worry to work away at his stomach again._

"_How you feeling?"_

"_Pretty shitty," Sam replied, his voice heavy with fatigue. _

_Although Sam wasn't one to downplay his symptoms to the degree that Dean did, he also wasn't one to exaggerate them either. Dean scanned his brother and knew that if Sam felt like crap, he was being completely and truly honest._

"_You smell pretty shitty too," Dean replied in a half hearted attempt to make Sam laugh. He only let a chuckle leave his lips after one tumbled from Sam's._

_There was a strain in Sam's voice as he tried to force himself into a sitting position, only giving up after he wasn't able to lift himself more than a couple inches from where he lay._

"_Yea, but I'm sick or whatever, Dean. What's your excuse?"_

"_Bite me," Dean shot back. He knew it was the expected response and was happy to see Sam smile almost imperceptibly before he draped an arm over his eyes._

Dean was at the register, unloading his basket, without realizing it at first. His eyes met the cashiers, a middle aged man that eyed Dean warily, as if he were expecting him to pull out a gun.

"Quiet morning, huh?" Dean asked with a friendly smile.

The man's eyebrows knitted together in response, his face clearly denoting that Dean had crossed a line. The smile adorning the Winchester's face faded as he dropped his gaze and removed the last few items from his basket before placing on top of the pile of other baskets near his feet. The beep of the register scanner met his ears and he let his mind drift again.

"_C'mon, just one round?"_

_Dean wanted to cave in, especially the way his brother was begging him with that damn puppy dog look of his, but he knew Sam needed to sleep before he had another fit._

"_Tell you what," Dean started, checking his pocket for his keys, "You sleep now, I'll get you your soup and we'll play that stupid game when I get back."_

_Sam's eyes met his and Dean was shocked to find a bit of resentment there. Then again, Dean realized, he was also employing a technique that he hadn't had to use since Sam was a kid - bargaining. Sam hated it when he was a kid, so why wouldn't he hate it now that he was an adult?_

_Suddenly, Sam's gaze shifted emotions and Dean found himself pierced with a glance that said so much more. Sam wasn't upset that Dean had compromised with him; Sam looked scared and anxious, as if he knew something that couldn't wait to long to be shared._

"_As long as you promise you'll wake me up when you get back."_

_Dean nodded, "Promise, Sammy."_

_He watched as Sam nodded and closed his eyes. He surveyed his brother for a few more moments after that, trying to figure out the hidden message in his brother's eyes. Dean had the sneaking suspicion that his brother's idea to play the game was a tool to tell him something much more important. It's how they used to pass information back and forth without their Dad knowing what they were up to when they were kids. It couldn't be that much different now._

_Then Dean started to think, forcing his sleep deprived brain to function despite its pleas for sleep. Maybe whatever was plaguing his brother was intelligent. Maybe it was smart enough to keep Sam from tattling on it too. Dean left the room shortly thereafter, but only after Sam's chest rose and fell evenly for a few minutes and he knew that he was sound asleep._

"Eighteen, forty-seven."

The soft quality of the obviously gruff man before him startled Dean. He went to his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and let his fingers scrape together a ten and some singles. Dean glanced up with slight embarrassment as he emptied the worn leather wallet. His reserves were running low due to the fact that his plans to go out and hustle some cash had been put on hold with Sam's precarious situation.

He was surprised when the man's visage morphed from hostile to something akin to sympathy. He was even more surprised when the man that had shut down on him mere moments before began to speak.

"Takin' care of someone sick?"

Dean nodded, throwing down eighteen dollars worth of paper bills as he fished through his pockets for the change. The man started to put the goodies Dean had picked up into a paper bag that crinkled as the man handled it.

Two quarters rattled away on the counter top as the cashier swiped up the bills and counted his payment. He nodded in sad understanding as he punched away at the register. Dean grabbed the lip of the bag and dragged it towards himself as the cash drawer opened and the man stuffed his pay inside.

Dean was out the door before the man had a chance to give him his change.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

The purr of the Impala stuttered to a stop as Dean turned the key in the ignition. He let out a tense sigh and let his head loll back against the seat for a moment. He couldn't afford to dawdle in case Sam was awake or worse, but he needed a moment to collect himself. Being this tired only ever served to get his emotions dangerously close to the surface and the current point in time was no exception.

With a rush of determination, Dean pulled himself up straight before he grabbed his groceries and hauled the driver's side door open. He knew Sam was probably fine and sleeping like he should be. However, he also knew he needed to wake his younger brother. He needed to find out what was wrong.

The door to their room swung open after he fought with the lock and Dean was surprised to see Sam leaning back against the headboard of his bed, his hands on the remote as he flipped through the only four channels their TV was capable of displaying.

"You're awake?"

"Heard the car," Sam replied, aiming the remote at the TV and turning it off. He glanced at the screen and shivered slightly as the ugly little imp waved at him from somewhere near his feet. At least it was giving him some time to recover some of his strength.

Sam watched as Dean walked over to the kitchenette, placing the bag on the counter and shrugging off his jacket. He wasn't completely surprised when Dean took some Gatorade and soup out of the bag to prepare a meal for him.

"Think we can play snaps for a bit?" Sam asked. He hoped the desperation in his voice didn't concern Dean so much as spur him into playing. Then again, what he had to tell his brother was kind of important, so maybe it would be okay to let his brother worry a little more.

"Why, Sam?" Dean whined uncharacteristically.

"To _help_ _me_ beat my boredom?" Sam asked in return.

Dean turned to look at Sam as he popped the bowl of soup in the microwave and poked around at the buttons to get the machine whirring. The younger of the two men in the room could practically feel the question rolling off his brother despite the fact that the oldest hadn't said a word.

Dean's brow furrowed momentarily. The inflection in his brother's voice did not go unnoticed by him. He nodded, completely perplexed by the new development. If Sam knew what was happening to him, why didn't he just tell him?

"You start," Sam said, hoping to lull the imp that was now trailing hot fingers up and down his legs into a false sense of security.

"Oh, c'mon, Sam!" Dean said, running a hand over his face, "As if its not bad enough that I have to play the damn game…"

"Dean," Sam said barely louder than a whisper, "It's the only way…"

Sam's words were cut off with a gasp as the little imp ran a finger up his chest and settled a hand over his heart. It burned fiercely and took him a moment to realize exactly what had happened. When he finally did have the sense to try to figure it out, he looked up at the TV screen and saw the imp waving a finger at him in disapproval.

_Shit._

"You alright, Sam?"

Sam looked to meet his brother's gaze, the hint of fear that the imp might have figured out his plan all but completely gone as a look of pure concern dripped from Dean's gaze. Sam noted the shadows under his brother's eyes, making the hazel hue that much more vividly green by contrast. He also noted, with some concern himself, the way Dean's freckles stood out against his skin that was paling from lack of sleep.

"Yea," Sam replied, "What about you, Dean?"

"What about me?" Dean asked turning to the microwave to avoid Sam's scrutiny.

"Gee, I dunno, Dean. Looks like you haven't slept in days."

Dean checked his watch again and did some quick math.

"Relax, man. It's been under 24 hours," he said, but noted the way Sam's face remained impassively concerned. He also noted, with some annoyance, the way his lips tightened into a thin line somewhere between a scowl and a frown and the way his eyebrows raised expectantly. He knew Sam wasn't going to let it go.

"Alright, so its been 17 and a half, but I have been sleeping. Better?"

Sam nodded, his lips curling almost imperceptibly into a subtle, acquiescent smile. He could tell by the way Dean shifted his stance and refused to break eye contact that he was telling the truth, but he could also tell that Dean was much more tired than he was letting on.

"So by sleeping, do you mean cat naps or actual REM cycle sleeping, Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean said with a weird mixture of warning and pleading that its namesake didn't like.

"Dean," Sam shot back in what he hoped was an appropriate imitation of that same tone.

Dean let a hoarse chuckle roll up his throat as he turned to Sam, "Forgive me for being a little concerned about my little brother, alright?"

The microwave beeped, effectively ending the conversation for the Winchesters. Dean turned to the machine and stabbed at the button to pop the door open with a little more force than was necessary before carefully grabbing the hot soup from the within and placing it on the counter to cool.

Sam turned his gaze away feeling guilty. Dean had always been doing this for as long as he could remember - losing sleep over his well being. Sam chanced a glance up at the TV screen and watched as the little imp began to play an invisible violin in mock sympathy to Sam's emotional struggle.

_The hell? Is it reading my mind?_

As if in response to his question, the little creature stopped playing air violin and put a long finger to something that Sam supposed was its nose in confirmation.

_Shit._

A dip in the bed near his hip distracted Sam as Dean sat down, carefully balancing the hot soup in one hand and a plastic cup full of bright orange Gatorade in the other.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean. You don't have to take care of me like this," Sam said, accepting the soup and stirring at it awkwardly with the plastic spoon.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment before quirking an eyebrow and responded, "And I'm not a girl, Samantha. So can we skip the Gilmore Girls crap?"

Sam rolled his eyes and blew on a spoonful of soup while he nodded to Dean. He began to eat, noting that Dean wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

"So, snaps?"

"Alright. Fine," Dean conceded with much less annoyance now that it was being brought up for a second time. He could obviously tell there was no way Sam was going to forget about playing this stupid little game.

"I still don't see why you just can't tell me wha-"

"I just can't," Sam shot back before Dean could spoil his plan. When he glanced at the TV screen, however, he was relieved to see that the imp was back to sitting on its haunches somewhere near his feet.

"Fine," Dean replied, pulling himself off of Sam's bed to relax on his own, "But you have to start."

"But Dean, I'm eating!" Sam said with a bit of laughter clinging to his words.

"You are such a pain in my ass," Dean replied, rubbing a hand over his tightly closed eyes.

"Tough. Now play," Sam said, punctuating his words with another mouthful of soup.

Dean gave himself a few minutes to think. He knew this wasn't just another game of snaps to pass lewd words back and forth under their father's radar. This time, the game was high stakes and Dean would be damned if he couldn't figure out what was after his brother.

"Alright, got one. This is the game of snaps. Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't. This time its both," Dean said, turning his attention to Sam who was still contentedly slurping away at his soup.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked and paused for a moment before he snapped his fingers three times. The last bit of the noise echoed through the quiet room as he paused again.

"This is stupid, Sasquatch. Can't we stop playing this game? How old are you anyways?"

Sam laughed weakly at his brother's sentences. Leave it to Dean to lace his displeasure into the silly game while actually playing it. When he looked up, Dean's eyes were studying his own. Both Winchesters knew that Dean wasn't asking for Sam to say the message he had conveyed, he was asking to hear whether or not he was correct.

"No," Sam said softly with a shake of his head. He chanced a glance at the TV screen, worried that the imp could maybe read his brother's mind as well. Sam felt relief as he saw the imp yawning with complete indifference. Sam focused on his soup, trying to keep his mind occupied with the need to fill his belly instead of the sneaky plan to tell Dean about the imp.

"Damn," Dean mumbled back, "Close at least?"

A soft snort left Sam before he said simply, "Not even a little."

"Its your turn, right?" Dean asked hoping to end his torture as soon as possible.

"Lemme finish this first," Sam said. Dean's angry glare softened immediately as Sam pouted and did his best impression of a lost little puppy dog. It was a low blow, but Sam was pretty sure he couldn't spell anything without his new best friend catching on. It was safer to let Dean try to figure it out.

"Fine," Dean huffed as he ran a hand down the side of his face and stared at the ceiling. His eyes squinted a bit in thought and Sam purposely began to pace himself with his soup. He was rapidly running out of chicken noodle which would only prompt Dean to make Sam play that much sooner and more insistently.

"Alright, this is the game of snaps. Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't. This time its both," the older Winchester brother said once again.

"Can you please take a turn soon?" Dean asked, albeit seriously.

Sam counted as his brother snapped five times, but focused on his soup to keep the imp from getting suspicious. He already knew where his brother was going.

"Really would be nice, Sammy. Seriously."

Sam slurped down some more soup as his brother snapped twice. He shook his head before he met his brother's gaze.

"But I thought you said…"

"Yea and I was wrong," Sam said simply, "Keep going."

Dean grumbled under his breath and he tried to think of something else that could be taxing his brother to such extremes. He sat up suddenly with a new idea.

"Alright. This is the game of snaps. Yadda, yadda, yadda," he said waving his hand dismissively at the introductory words.

"C'mon, Dean! You gotta play right! How else will I know when to start paying attention?"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, "_Fine._ This is the game of snaps. Sometimes it is; sometimes it isn't. This time its both."

He shot his brother a look that asked "happy now?" and flipped him off in the same breath; Sam laughed heartily at Dean's frustration. They both knew the intro was completely pointless, but Sam liked to pay his brother back for all his little pranks every now and then.

"Here we go again," Dean said. He snapped his fingers twice without pausing, but it took him a moment to figure out another sentence to finish his thought.

"X-rays are expensive," he said after a moment.

"That's the best you got?" Sam asked.

"Just shut up and tell me if I'm right," Dean shot back as he got up and fished his M&Ms out of his grocery bag.

"Not even close," Sam replied as his brother plopped himself down on his own bed with a rush of air.

"Not even close," Dean grumbled as he mocked his brother's voice. He continued, "Feel up to playing now?"

Sam nodded grudgingly and took a sip of Gatorade before glancing at the TV again. The imp was studying him carefully in the reflection, almost as if it suspected something was about to happen. Sam shrugged it off and tried to play it cool.

"Alright," he said placing his soup bowl on the night stand, "This is the game of snaps. Sometimes it is; sometimes it isn't. This time its both."

He wiped a hand down his face as traces of heat began to work its way up towards his chest again. Sam was suddenly very afraid that the imp knew what he was doing.

He looked at Dean, who blinked back at him with raised eyebrows of annoyance. It was all Sam could do to keep his scathing words in check before he gulped and snapped his fingers three times.

"Maybe you could help me. Please tell me you get it," Sam said quickly. He knew his words were rushed, but already he could feel a relentless heat licking at his neck and head. He knew the imp was back and definitely suspicious.

Dean blinked, his face pulled into a frown.

"That's it?" he asked.

Sam nodded, "Did you get it?"

Dean scratched the back of his head, "Well, yea. I know how to spell, Sam. But an imp? Really?"

Sam's response died on his tongue as the maniacal little demon grabbed his head and began its assault once again. Apparently it didn't like that Sam had tattled. That much was for certain as it unleashed a new kind of fury that Sam hadn't experienced yet.

"SAM!"

Sam felt his brother's grip heavy on his shoulder and he clenched his jaw tightly as the spasms tore through him in a new form of agony he had never experienced. He screwed his face tightly together, trying to hold back the yell that wanted to rip through him. He felt like he was burning from the inside out on every inch of his body. His muscles tightened and released convulsively, jarring him further and further. He rode the wave of agony for another minute or two before he began to yell.

"Fuck!" Dean spit out in panic, holding down his brother as Sam continued to seize.

He felt so stupid and careless on top of his unbridled panic. Sam had been handing him the clues the whole time. Imps were _Faerie demons - Fae_.

The last line of the poem. The obvious dropping of the word Fae. They popped into his head and Dean cursed himself under his breath, never removing his hand from his brother's shoulder. Sam had been trying to tell him and Dean had been too stupid to piece the clues together.

He felt a little better, though, as he ran through the normal signs of an imp attachment. Dean had never seen an imp cause such extreme fits like this in his entire career as a hunter; that, of course, was saying something, because Dean had been hunting nearly his entire life.

Usually, the ugly little creatures were content to hide keys, play with thermostats and occasionally shove someone down the stairs. To see one attached to his brother was painful enough, but the fact that it had this kind of control over Sam was horrifying in completely new ways.

A guttural groan pulled Dean from his thoughts and he found himself rubbing his hand over his brother's shoulder to try to soothe him.

"Breathe, Sam," Dean said with authority, "C'mon, man. Breathe through it."

Sam began to pant in an effort to get the much needed oxygen to his overtaxed muscles. He could just barely make out the sound of his brother's voice reaching out for him through the angry fog that consumed him. He knew what he needed to do; he had been trained just like Dean had for situations like this. His body, however, was far beyond the point of listening to his commands.

With a whimper, Sam's face smoothed and the tense muscles beneath Dean's fingers relaxed. A soft exhale left Sam's mouth and Dean found himself checking for a pulse out of instinct. It was much quicker than it should have been, but it was there and strong. That was good enough for now.

"Christ, Sammy."

Dean stood slowly and uncertainly, his hand wiping at his face as he contemplated the best course of action to get rid of the thing torturing his brother. Ordinarily, getting rid of an imp was an easy process. Usually, all a hunter had to do was stand in front of a mirror until the damn thing appeared and press a bloody hand to its reflection to banish it back to wherever it had come from.

Of course, the alternative was preferred by the elder Winchester as it killed the unnatural creature and prevented it from harming any more innocent lives in the future. This method, too, required a mirror in addition to a wrought iron spike that would be plunged into the imp's reflection.

Dean had used this method once before, when Sam was still at Stanford and John was still tracking Azazel. They had happened across peculiar occurrences at an old steam train station that still ran somewhere in the state of Connecticut. At the time, it had been all too obvious to Dean that it was an imp and John had left to get rid of an angry spirit somewhere down the street; he knew his son could handle something like an imp.

The annoying little creature had displayed many signs from setting the coal bed on top of the antique train engine ablaze to stirring up frenzied chaos in the form of poking at the engine's fire until the pressure was so great that the enormous pistons on the sides of the engine had nearly exploded.

Dean had had to improvise then, luring the little bugger into the men's room, an old railroad spike in hand. When he finally saw it appear in the glass surface, he had stabbed at it, expecting the mirror to shatter. He had been surprised when the spike had slid into the glass almost as though he were pressing a hot piece of metal into wax. The imp had started to smoke in the mirror, hissing and spitting curses in a language Dean didn't understand, until the young Winchester had been forced to let go of the weapon; the spike, searing with unbelievable heat, had burned his hand pretty severely.

As the imp disintegrated, the iron was expelled from the mirror and dropped to the floor with a loud clang. The mirror had looked as good as new, but the same definitely couldn't be said for Dean's hand. Much to his father's annoyance, Dean's injury had kept him from wielding a gun or a hunting knife for a week or two. However, the inability to hunt had allowed Dean to hone his abilities to hustle up some cash.

A tinny, jingling noise brought Dean out of his memories. Without thought, his hand darted into his pocket and grabbed the offending noise maker. He had it open and pressed to his head without even looking at the caller ID; he had been expecting this call.

"It's an imp," Dean said through the tense knot in his throat.

"And you're a regular Einstein," came Bobby's terse response. There was a sigh before he continued, "This one's the Mebd's pet. Her personal little hellion."

"The what?" Dean asked, completely at a loss.

"The _Mebd_," Bobby said, "As in, the Warrior Queen of the Faeries. Ya know, one of two Queens in the Land of the Fae? She rules over what's called the Unseelie Court."

Dean glanced back at Sam and noted sourly that his little brother would've understood this. Sam was well versed in this kind of stuff - the folklore and the fairy tales. Sam's eyes began to flutter beneath his eyelids and Dean half sighed with relief as he realized his brother was beginning to dream.

"Of course, Bobby. _Everyone_ just knows that off the top of their heads," Dean snarked back.

"Boy, I don't think you get just how bad this is," Bobby countered.

"Then, enlighten me, Obi Wan," Dean replied with all of his stored frustration dripping from his words. To say his nerves were frazzled at this point was probably an understatement. Add a lack of sleep to the mix and Dean was rapidly becoming something nuclear.

"Gladly, young Skywalker."

Dean rolled his eyes and stalked off to the small kitchenette table. Bobby's words were rattling around in his ears again as he sat himself down in the chair by the table.

"Do you know anything about the Fae world?"

"Uhhhh, if by know _anything_ you mean _nothing, _then yea. I'm an expert," Dean replied.

Dean knew it was bad when Bobby didn't offer an insult to his intelligence or even huff in frustration at Dean's remark. If it was this important, Dean knew he needed to just shut up and listen to what the man on the other end had to say.

"Alright, the Land of the Fae is ruled by two Queens. Sisters. One of them is the Cat Ana, the Seelie Queen. The one we gotta worry about is the Mebd. She rules over the nastier things in the Fae world. Tends to get herself associated with the notion of death and decay."

"Well! That's a relief," Dean said sarcastically, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No kidding. Anyways, story goes that both the Seelie and Unseelie Queens were human once. They were damned to hell, but the Devil didn't want 'em. Thought they'd take his throne away from him if he wasn't careful. He trapped 'em in a sort of limbo between our world and his. This is the Land of the Fae."

"Huh," Dean responded, "So what, its like an alternate universe?"

"Yes and no. It exists alongside everything we know, Dean. Hell, some people on Earth have even got Fae blood in them from Medieval England times. Point is, we can't see it anymore because we don't fear it like we used to."

Dean scoffed. "Wait. You're saying some people are part Faerie?"

"Duh! Course you and your brother run into them all the time and hunt them bastards down. Werewolves, vampires, changelings. They're all part Fae."

"Wait, werewolves and vampires are Fae?"

"Did I stutter?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he tried to process the information. He knew better than anyone that werewolves and vampires alike were created by a virus that spread from person to person. It didn't make any sense.

"And don't roll your eyes at me."

A dark chuckle left Dean's lips before he continued, "Still trying to see how the wolf-man and blood suckers are Fae over here."

"Faerie virus, moron. For werewolves, passed along through saliva. For vampires, passed along through the blood. Better?"

"…But I already knew that!"

"Then quit askin' stupid questions and let's get back to the damn imp!"

Dean had to grip the edge of the table hard to keep himself in check.

"Alright, so how did Sam get wrapped up in all this?" Dean asked, somehow managing to keep the angry quiver out of his voice.

"Well, this is where it gets tricky. Poe was a little obsessed with Fae folklore. Course, he didn't know it was more than just stories. Dean, you ever hear the story of Tam Lin?"

"Pretend I did but need a refresher," Dean replied.

Dean heard the sigh and knew the chastising was coming. Bobby didn't disappoint, "Boy, you're hopeless, you know that?"

"Just shut up and tell me already."

"Alright, well the abridged version goes like this. The Mebd fell in love with a mortal. Name was Tam Lin, but he was in love with a mortal girl. So, to keep the girl from stealing him away, the Mebd took out his heart and put a stone in its place. Boy's heart got locked away in a chest that she made out of her undying love for him and hid it somewhere in Faerieland. She kept him for herself and made him her King."

Dean fought back the snort of laughter as the word "Faerieland" hit his ears. Sure, he was used to dealing with urban myths and legends, but this was starting to sound more and more like something Disney would have owned the rights to already.

"'Kay. Mortal guy trapped in the Faerie world and married to some messed up Fae Queen. Was she hot at least?" Dean asked.

"The guy's got a stone for a heart and can't feel a damn thing and you're wonderin' if the Mebd Queen is good lookin'? Besides, that's not how the story ends," Bobby replied flatly.

Dean kept silent as Bobby finished the tale.

"Tam Lin's true love comes back and by some miracle, she reminds him how to love again. He gets his heart back without havin' to look for the chest and the two disappear and live happily ever after."

Dean couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him this time. He heard Bobby clear his throat on the other end of the line and worked furiously to get himself back in control.

"And this is relevant how?" Dean couldn't help but asking.

"Ain'tcha wondering about the stone?"

Dean blinked and sat up straighter in his chair. He could feel that they were getting to something really important.

"What about the stone, Bobby?"

"There's two things. First, you gotta know that the stone went back to the chest in place of Tam Lin's heart. By the time the Mebd figured out what happened, her love for him twisted itself black and became an imp, same one that's got its claws in your brother now. It wouldn't let go of the stone."

"'Kay. That's creepy," Dean responded and after a thought added, "Explains those broken hearted dreams Sam and I had though."

"Yep," Bobby replied, "What's the quote… 'Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn' or somethin' like that."

There was an awkward pause in the story and Dean knew Bobby was waiting for him to ask.

"Alright, I'll bite. What else is so special about the stone?"

There was a dark chuckle before the older hunter said, "What do you think they used for Poe's memorial?"

Dean's face fell in shock and his mouth opened and closed once or twice as he fought to find his voice. Bobby's gruff tone snapped him out of his daze.

"Also a fun fact, Poe's a descendent of Tam Lin somewhere down the line. Also explains why the imp killed him."

Dean's gaze snapped to his brother at the word, "It did _what_?"

"It killed him. Why do you think they still don't know what kinda illness he had?"

"Shit," Dean said sharply. He heard papers shuffling around through the earpiece of the phone and knew it was Bobby's way of sounding busy so Dean could process what was happening to his brother.

"Wait, so are we descendents of Tam Lin? That why this thing is after Sam?"

Another dark chuckle and then Bobby spoke, "No, Dean. Woulda had you too if that were the case. This thing is after Sam 'cause of what happened to one of the women he loved."

"What? He broke her heart! I mean, not to brag or anything, but I'm a bit of a heartbreaker myself. Shouldn't that thing be after me instead?"

There was an awkward silence and Dean knew it was because he wasn't going to like what Bobby was about to say.

"I don't know, Dean. Did you end up _killing_ any old flames?"

Dean struggled with the implication in Bobby's voice as his vision swam with a red haze. His words dripped with protective malice as he spoke. "My brother is not a _murderer,_ Bobby."

"You really are thick headed, aren't you?"

Dean felt like he had just been slapped across the face, but fought the urge to hang up on the man. He still needed to figure out how to get rid of this thing.

"I don't think your brother's a murderer, boy, but that thing does. Think about it. It's technically part of the Mebd herself. The thing is killing your brother because of _what_ he killed!"

Dean paused for a moment as comprehension washed over him with a tidal wave like force. He glanced at his brother with sadness as he remembered how determined he had been to finish the job himself. He couldn't imagine the anguish Sam had felt, the bitter disappointment. After all, Sam had given his heart over to - even made love to - a woman that couldn't be cured from the virus that flooded her system and changed her with the cycling of the moon.

"A werewolf," Dean breathed out with resignation, "Madison was technically part Fae."

"Bingo."

Dean paused for a moment before dragging the heavily used notepad towards himself and picking up a pen. In the pit of his stomach, he knew it would be much more difficult to get rid of an imp that was part of a Fae Queen than an ordinary one.

"Alright, so how do I get rid of this thing?"

The sound of Bobby blowing air through his lips hit his ears.

"You ain't gonna like it."

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean was back to cleaning their weapons, his nerves close to completely shot and his patience almost completely gone. He was exhausted on top of it too, which only made him feel more raw and that much closer to exploding.

Bobby had been wrong. Dean didn't just not like what he had to do, he absolutely abhorred it. Then again, maybe he wouldn't have hated it so much if the thing didn't have a timeline to adhere to…or a story to settle on before he could actually kick its ass back to the Land of the Fae.

The whole thing was simple enough, but it meant a lot of hurry up and wait. For example, Dean had to wait until it was officially October 7th, the same day that the stupid little thing had killed Poe. Dean also had to wait for the picky little bastard to decide which of Poe's stories best represented what had happened between Sam and Madison. For the record, he really wished the damn thing would hurry up already.

Fortunately, Sam was sleeping peacefully again and inwardly, Dean knew that he should probably grab some shut eye himself before they had to hit the road. The spell to get rid of the imp required him to take Sam to Tam Lin's stone - it did once mark Tam Lin's heart, after all - which further complicated things because they were at least four hours away from Westminster Burying Grounds, barring any traffic. He sighed as he reassembled his colt and placed it down on the bed beside him.

A list of things needed for the incantation crinkled beneath the weight of the gun before Dean slid it out from under the weapon and reread it. It was pretty specific, but at least everything he needed was easily obtained.

Sam needed to offer some of his blood, partly because the iron content in it would weaken the connection between him and the imp and partly as a sacrificial offering to open the door to the Fae world. The enchantment also required holy water which would purify Sam's blood and completely sever the tie between him and the nasty little creature hanging around. Because the imp was attached to Poe as well, Dean also needed to get a hard copy of the story the imp was still trying to settle on. The blood, holy water and text would be combined and burned on top of Tam Lin's stone to send the imp back where it belonged.

"Way to get caught in a fucked up fairytale, Cinderella," Dean griped as he watched the sleeping form of his brother.

Dean stood up, noting with frustration that the room felt like it was spinning due to his fatigue. He started to clear the weapons from his bed and pack them back into the duffel bag they had come from as he caught himself checking his watch yet again. It was only just after 1pm.

Dean weighed his options carefully. He wouldn't have to worry about finding a hard copy of whatever story the imp chose thanks to his brother's ginormously dorky habit of carrying around all of Poe's works in one heavy book. As much as his brother would probably hate him for it, Dean knew he could just rip the pages out and use them when the time came. They had enough holy water stashed away in the trunk that he didn't really need to cook up another batch anytime soon and he didn't even want to think about slicing his brother's hand at this point.

With the necessities taken care of for the time being, Dean dragged his feet back over to his bed and collapsed on top of it without covering himself with the scratchy sheets or the blanket. His hand curled around the handle of his favorite knife hidden beneath his pillow and he allowed himself to get a few hours of sleep before the inevitable happened.

* * *

**A/N:** Huzzah! Another chapter! Also, I did this in my other fic (Storm Chasers) so I thought I should do it here too. The first one to leave a review that includes all **3** of Dean's guesses encoded using the game of snaps will get a one-shot written just for them! Good luck and REVIEW!

xoTrebleMaker


	5. October 7th

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Blah, blah, blah. READ!

* * *

**[October 7th****, 2007]**

_Sam crept into the bedroom, the chamber dull except for where a thin blade of light snuck in through the door held ajar. She stood there with her back to him, lightly illuminated by the sunset hanging in the sky. He concealed the gun in his hand behind his back even though he was certain she had heard him. They both knew what was coming, but he didn't want to alarm her._

_He approached with caution, practically slinking into the room as if he could become completely imperceptible and delay the inevitable. She turned slowly, her face serene in what appeared to be complete acceptance of her fate. Her gaze tracked him, a nervous flicker that betrayed the calm exterior she had put up to protect herself. She knew what had to happen, she just never thought it would end like this. _

_Sam didn't want to do this. He loved her - all of her - except for that one part that marred her mortal existence. He hated that part because it meant that they couldn't be together. He wished against everything else that he could get rid of just that one part of her and preserve the rest. Everything would be okay then. Everything would be alright._

_They made eye contact and slowly but surely, Sam let the gun come into view. Neither said a word, preferring the silence to the gruesome details that were unavoidable at this point. A breath caught in Sam's throat as he struggled to suppress the feelings he had for the woman before him._

_She closed the gap between them, pressing her lips against his. Sam closed his eyes, savoring the feeling before he felt a gentle warmth resting on his chest. He glanced to it, effectively breaking the kiss, and found Madison's hand resting there, poised above his heart. A sad smile crossed his features as he looked back into her warm, brown eyes._

_They knew this was it. This was the end._

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

A loud thump and sharp, stabbing pain jolted Sam from his dreams. He knew he must've made some kind of noise, especially based on the way Dean was doing his best to avoid looking at him at all costs.

Sam's eyes darted around trying to discern where he was. So far, all he could gather was that he was still in the passenger seat of the Impala, wrapped up in the now stolen motel room blanket, as it streaked down the highway.

The noise continued, loud and heavy in his ears. The pain, on the other hand, had lessened some; he rubbed his hand over his chest, swallowing away the panic as he acknowledged that the imp had decided to attack his heart. With that realization came the understanding of the loud noise. His heart beat was pounding away in his ears relentlessly.

"You alright?" Dean asked glancing in his side mirror as he changed lanes.

Sam nodded and looked for any signs to give him a hint as to their whereabouts. Finding none, he asked, "Where are we?"

"95 South. We're headed back to Baltimore," Dean said patiently.

The elder Winchester had already explained this back at the motel room nearly an hour ago. He had awoken with a start and had nearly panicked when he realized just how late he had let himself sleep in. He had moved quickly, packing up their bags and tossing them into the back seat of the car before destroying the salt lines throughout the motel room. Dean had finished the task in record time before he moved on to helping getting Sam out. He had gently ushered Sam outside, his brother awake but barely coherent enough to know what was happening around him.

"'Kay," Sam replied, resting his head against the cool glass of the Impala. He wasn't quite ready to sleep again, but he was absolutely drained. His voice was tired when he found himself speaking.

"I had another dream," Sam said as another weak shock of pain jolted his chest. He absent-mindedly rubbed at the spot.

"Yea?" Dean asked, glancing at him quickly before turning his attention back to the road.

"Yea. I watched myself… Kill her. Again," Sam said with a note of sadness.

"You had to do it, Sammy," Dean replied.

"I know," Sam managed, though it was hardly more than a whisper.

A comfortable silence drifted into the front seat of the Chevy as it continued its journey towards Maryland. Dean drifted through his own thoughts to avoid the pressing need to get his brother to Poe's marker. A grunt from Sam brought him back to the present situation much sooner than he would've liked.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yea, 'm fine," Sam replied as he ignored the shock of pain that ripped through his chest again. With each ripple, the pounding in his ears grew louder. He blinked a few times and shook his head in unhappy understanding.

"The Tell-Tale Heart," he said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"The Tell-Tale Heart," Sam said again, "That's what the dream was about. That's why my chest…"

Dean shot his brother an angry look before he spoke, "I thought you said you were okay, Sam."

"Alright, I lied," he said in return, "That make you feel better, Dean?"

Dean wiped a hand down the side of his face, his lips pursed together angrily.

"I take it your chest hurts then? Kind of a sharp pain, right? Sometimes feels like your heart's skipping a beat?"

Sam stared at his brother incredulously. This was exactly why he didn't want his brother to know about his heart. The angry timbre to his voice, the barely contained fire in his eyes and the note of complete comprehension? Sam hated it.

Dean caught his brother's eyes for a moment and the anger that hardened his features softened a little as he turned back to the road.

"I was there once, remember Sam? Damn rawhead," Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam nodded once in understanding and made an effort to stare out of the windshield at the dark skyline that hovered above the ebony asphalt.

"Get some rest," Dean said, turning down the radio so it wasn't anything more than a ghost of sound.

Sam nodded and slouched down in the seat, his knees pinned against the dash, as he closed his eyes and let the purr of the Impala coax him back into the dream world.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dean was sweating despite the chilly October air as he worked away as quickly as he could manage to put the spare tire into place. In all the years he had owned the Impala, she had never let him down ever. Yet, here they were, pulled over about 15 minutes outside of Baltimore on 695 with eighteen wheelers blowing past in a frenzy as Dean worked to get the blown tire off and the spare put in its place.

"When did I ever do you wrong, huh, baby?" he asked with his voice full of strain due to his physical labor. He grunted as he loosened a nut, "Sam's the one that went and wrecked you."

Another big rig flew by, its horn honking away into the night as Dean did his best to ignore it and keep working away at the wheel. The last thing they needed was for the cops to show up while their trunk was wide open. There was no way he'd be able to explain all the weapons.

He heard the chattering teeth before Sam had a chance to speak, "T-t-talkin' to the 'mpala, D-Dean?"

Dean paused for a moment, as the rusty - and at this he had been appalled - lug nut finally gave way from its place on the tire, and he wiped a hand across his forehead.

"You really shouldn't be outta the car, Sam," Dean said in response.

If Dean thought Sam looked rough before, he had been severely mistaken. The phrase "death warmed over" was probably an appropriate cliché at this point. The only thing that told Dean that Sam wasn't a zombie was the angry scarlet flush that had been more or less permanently attached to Sam's skin since the clocks had hit midnight about three hours ago.

"Whatever, Dean," Sam ground out.

Dean turned his attention back to getting the blown tire off so he could get the spare into place. He had been incredibly surprised to find the spare buried under the weapons hidden away in the trunk mostly because he had been certain that he'd tossed it out to make more room for their artillery. To say he was grateful that that wasn't the case was an understatement.

Sam shifted from foot to foot as he wrapped the motel blanket around his shoulders more tightly. The imp had really started going to town on him since midnight had rolled around. He was honestly surprised that they had been able to keep the scorching heat that was his temperature maintained at the ridiculous peak of 102.9 degrees, but that wasn't the half of what he had been hiding from Dean.

Sam's muscles alternated between extreme aches and absolute weakness. At one point during the car ride, Sam had been in a heated debate with his brother and very suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence. He had felt his head roll to the side, even farther than he had already been leaning, and thwack harshly against the window; he had been completely powerless to stop it. Fortunately, Dean had written it off as extreme exhaustion and left Sam alone to sleep.

However, what Sam was most worried about was the volume and tempo with which his own heart had been beating. It was much quicker than it had been even ten minutes ago. It wasn't anywhere near completely dangerous yet, but Sam still felt as though he had been jogging for the past 5 minutes. There was a pang of heat scorching through his chest before he heard his heart rate increase in speed and stay at the steady, elevated rhythm.

A soft grunt escaped Sam before he could suppress it, his chest aching with what felt like an adrenaline rush.

Dean started working away at the last lug nut to secure the spare in place, but glanced up at his brother at the change in his voice. He sounded even more tired and wrung out if it were even possible.

"You gonna pass out on me?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, but Dean couldn't help but notice that he had decided to make his way back into the passenger seat of the Impala instead of stand there and make small talk. He knew his younger brother was definitely hiding something, but Sam was sometimes even better at diversions than he was. Chances were slim in regards to figuring out what he was keeping to himself.

The car door creaked as it opened and closed around the same time Dean managed to put the finishing touches on the tire situation. With a few swift movements, the car was lowered back to the asphalt and Dean was rummaging through the trunk to put the jack back in its place. He tossed the blown tire out into the murky grass alongside the highway before he checked for traffic and dodged back into the driver's seat.

The door closed with a soft groan and a loud click as Dean pulled the keys from his pocket; he was poised to talk to Sam when he noticed that his brother was napping against the window again. A bead of sweat rolled down Sam's face and Dean turned his attention back to getting his brother to the cemetery and out of this horrible ordeal.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

"You have got to be kidding me!"

The loud smacking noise of Dean's hand meeting the steering wheel startled Sam from his sleep. The dream had returned again, this time with less accuracy and more desperation. Sam could practically hear Madison's voice as she begged for her life like she had in the dream.

Sam turned, eyes bleary from sleep, and took in Dean's appearance. He could practically feel the desperation and frustration dripping from his older brother and as Sam turned his attention to the front windshield, he understood why immediately.

A team of road workers stood in the middle of their path. There were at least 10 other cars ahead of them, their engines turned off at this point, as the team scrambled to fix what looked to be a blown water main if the gushing water was any indication.

A snort escaped Sam in amusement. The Winchester's weren't exactly known for their good luck, but what they lacked in luck they made up for in sheer determination. Apparently this was just going to be one of those situations again.

"What's so funny?"

Sam glanced at Dean and bit back the chuckle that he so desperately wanted to share. Dean's face was firm, angry and would've terrified any five year old within sight. However, because of the fever, the exhaustion and the rate of his racing heart, Sam couldn't help but see everything around him as ironic in that cruel kind of way.

"You don't think a blown tire and a water main breaking on the way to save my life isn't funny?"

Dean's face slipped a little as his cynical side tried to win out over the frustration. However, whatever inch of anxiety relief Sam had gained quickly vanished as Dean spoke.

"You think all this happening with thirty minutes until go time is something to laugh about?"

"C'mon, Dean. It's a little funny," Sam said with a twinkle in his eye. After all, he had just stolen one of his brother's lines and used it against him.

There was a tense moment before Dean relented, a soft bark of laughter spilling from his throat, before he shook his head and leaned back into the seat of the car. The tension that left his body in that instant felt like ecstasy. He hadn't realized exactly how tense he had become in such a short time. Hell, he hadn't been this tense since he had first started hunting, which was saying an awful lot!

"I guess, even for us, it is kinda funny," Dean conceded more to appease his brother than anything else.

"Yea," Sam said.

A tinny, pinging ring tone interrupted whatever comment was about to fly out of Dean's mouth. With one fluid motion, he pulled the phone from his pocket, flipped open with his thumb and placed it against his ear.

"Yea?"

"How's your brother doin'?"

Dean glanced in the review mirror, pleased to see that he was still the last car in the line up, "He'll be fine if we ever get to the damn marker."

"You still haven't gotten there yet?"

An annoyed chuckle caught Sam's attention and he knew almost at once that Dean was talking to Bobby. As much as the older hunter seemed to irritate the older Winchester, Dean still considered Bobby to be a father to him. Sam felt the same way, even if Bobby did call them idiots more often than sons.

"Kinda hard when you blow a tire and get stuck at a damn blown water main."

The silence on the other end of the phone had even Sam's ears ringing. He winced as a sharp pain jabbed through his chest and his heart picked up its pace. The thudding in his ears had become white noise up until that point. Now it was starting to freak him out.

"Dean," he managed weakly as another spike of agony ripped through him. He could feel his heart racing to the point that he could do nothing more than pant at the strain. Sam had felt pain before, but this? This was beyond words.

He closed his eyes and set his jaw - anything to take his mind off the agony blazing away through his chest and heart. He slid sideways, head leaning against the window as his eyes slid open to mere slits. He nearly gagged at the sight that greeted him. Black, twisted imp skin lay embedded somewhere within his own flesh; clearly its hands were literally wrapped around his heart. Another sharp sting confirmed his suspicions and Sam began to feel any strength he had been grappling with start to drain from him rapidly.

Dean glanced at his younger brother, poised to inform him that the adults were speaking and he'd have to wait his turn. However, the sight of his brother, slumped against the window and just centimeters away from the point of passing out grabbed his attention.

"Sam. C'mon, Sammy. Breathe," Dean spit out desperately. He grabbed for his brother's arm, shaking slightly to rouse Sam. All he managed to do, however, was to make his little brother whimper instead.

"The hell's goin' on over there?"

Bobby never did get a response as Dean snapped his phone shut, stuffed it into his pocket and threw the car into reverse. The sudden change in direction made Sam gasp and his hand shot out in front of him to steady himself. He vaguely registered Dean apologizing as the blood pounded through his ears and the Impala lurched forwards, darting down a side street to get around the road work.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

"C'mon, Sasquatch," Dean grumbled, "Help me out a little. Your sorry ass weighs a ton."

Sam staggered, barely holding himself together through his misery, with one arm wrapped around his brother's shoulders and the other gripping fiercely at the fabric over his heart. His vision had long since blurred and was starting to come in shades of gray. He could barely hear Dean's voice, but it was enough to encourage him forward.

The night air did little to relieve the tension in Dean's muscles as he continued to more or less haul his brother through the cemetery towards Poe's marker. He could feel the cold metal of his knife against the skin of his back where he had hastily slipped the blade to get his brother out of the car. It pressed into his skin now, far from enough pressure to cut, but just enough to embed the chill into his spine. Dean shuddered a bit as the marker came into view.

It seemed ordinary enough and Dean struggled to see how a stone of such size could have taken a place in a grown man's chest. Then again, he reasoned, he was still grappling with the idea that werewolves and all those baddies he hunted for a living were from the Fae world as well. He shook his head and muttered under his breath just as they arrived in front of the marker.

The ominous raven perched in the emblem upon it seemed to stare at both Winchesters maliciously as he helped Sam rest against the stone. Almost immediately, Sam's face screwed up tightly as he rode the wave of agony thanks to his change in position. Dean could practically hear his brother's teeth grinding together in the stillness of the night air.

"It's alright, Sammy," he said checking his watch, "It's almost over."

He dropped his duffel to his feet as comprehension washed over him. Dean only had five minutes left to anoint the story with some of Sam's blood, a splash of holy water and send the mixture up in flames before he lost him.

The zipper gave way with no resistance as Dean worked away. He grabbed the book first, flipping it open to the pages he had already marked before they left and tore out all six pages of the text. Sam would probably give him an earful about it later, but Dean was pretty sure saving his life trumped ruining a good book.

The knife appeared in his hand next, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. He had really hoped he'd never have to hurt his brother, but if spilling his blood meant saving his life, who was he to back down now?

Dean pulled the flask out next and shook it. The faint tinkling of water echoed in the little chamber and he felt his resolve returning. As the matches appeared from the depths of his duffel next, he knew he could win. He knew he could make this end.

Dean looked up at Sam with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered as he grabbed his brother's hand and drew the blade across it.

Sam groaned deep in his throat and tried to pull his hand away. The pressure in his chest intensified as the imp began to process what the elder Winchester was doing.

"Easy, Sam. It's all done, ok?"

Dean was careful and thorough, pressing Sam's blood soaked hand against each page before he stood and set it on top of the marker. His brother's face seemed to ease as his hand hit every page and he realized, with satisfaction, that Sam's blood was indeed weakening the bond between him and his captor.

Dean checked his watch and started as he realized he had about 2 minutes to complete this or Sam was lost. He managed to get the cap off the flask, only fumbling once in his hurry. Quickly, he dumped the contents of the holy water onto the pages and was startled as Sam's eye flew open and a scream tore through his throat. The agony and despair that rent the night air made Dean's heart ache and his gut clench uncomfortably.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. The water was supposed to sever the bond. He kept going as Sam began to squirm weakly on the ground. It was obvious that what little fight he had left in him was being used up at last.

Dean dropped the match onto a dry corner of the pages and at once, a fire began to leap up and dance on top of the stone. He heard Sam take in a shuddering breath, the cords in his neck standing out again, before he dropped to his brother's side.

"Sam," Dean said, shaking his shoulder.

Sam continued to writhe as the flames licked at the paper. He couldn't see anything anymore nor could he hear anything other than the imp screaming and his heart beating wildly against his ribs. This was an agony unlike anything he had ever had to endure and he was fairly certain that he was dying. He had to be. There was nothing on earth that felt so completely crushing.

The pages of the book burst into a sudden pillar of fire, scattering the spent ashes of what once was a story into the air in its wake. Dean stared at it in awe and horror before he checked his watch and noted that it was 5am on the nose. He felt himself panting as his panic rose. Sam was still in pain, still panting and straining against an enemy that was unseen by him. Dean pressed his forehead against Sam shoulder and silently began to pray that nothing had gone wrong. He prayed and hoped and wished that he done everything he could to save his brother.

Sam blinked and took in another sharp sting of night air. Faintly, a form began to glimmer in the distance. Her hair was dark against her skin. Her lips were full and tugged down at the sides. Her eyes were russet brown and soulful, but full of such tragedy and sorrow that Sam felt himself breaking. There was a stutter in his heart's rhythm not once, but twice before he felt it stop completely.

"Madison," he whispered out before his head rolled forward and Sam Winchester died.

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

_It felt like drifting, but not quite. Maybe floating was the right word. He struggled to remember what any of that felt like, but here in this black void, it was impossible to remember anything other than relief and complete peace._

"_I missed you, Sam."_

_The voice caught him completely off guard and his eyes popped open, despite the fact that he had been unaware that they were closed. There she was. The woman he had agonized over for nearly two weeks now. It wasn't because he had loved her. No. It was because he had loved her and had to physically put an end to his own happiness._

"_Madison," he replied, reaching out to her. She caught his hand with her own and pressed it against her cheek. Her flesh was cool and smooth under his touch._

"_You know you can't stay here, right, Sam?"_

_He felt the squeeze in his heart at the thought. He loved her. He wanted to be with her because he deserved it. He deserved the normalcy - the happiness._

"_I know."_

_Both of their faces softened in sadness and Sam wished this dream would never end._

"_You know you had to do it," Madison said, breaking the tense silence that had built._

"_I know, but we could've found a way to-"_

"_Stop," she said with a chuckle, "There is no cure, Sam. You saved me."_

_He shook his head, his eyes shining with tears of sadness and frustration._

"_You call burying a silver bullet in your heart saving you?"_

"_Sam," she said softly, inching closer to him and wiping away the stray tear that rolled down his cheek, "You saved me from turning again and harming other people. And yes, I consider that a blessing. You let me go as a human and not as a monster. Don't you think that's something in itself?"_

_Sam blinked a few times as more tears tracked down his cheeks. He had never seen it that way. He had only blamed and ridiculed himself for ending a life instead of saving one._

"_I love you, Sam," Madison whispered as she pressed her lips against his cheek. She pulled herself away slowly and whispered into his ear, "but you have to let me go, Sam. It's time to let go and go home."_

_He nodded slightly, "Love you."_

**+SUPERNATURAL+**

Dampness. He felt it along his cheeks and somewhere along his shoulder, but he couldn't remember it raining. He pried his eyes open, momentarily panicking as he saw nothing but the twilight sky ahead of him. Then it came back in a flood of memory and it engulfed him, overwhelmed him.

He gasped, his chest burning as his lungs screamed for oxygen and he felt the pressure that had been nestled against his shoulder move.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked and rolled his eyes towards the sound of his name, immediately recognizing his brother's voice. He tried to respond, but the only thing he could get out was a groan before his head tilted backwards against the strong stone marker.

Dean stared, mouth agape in complete disbelief. His brother was here. His brother was alive after he had had no pulse and hadn't been breathing for over two minutes. He had been frantic with worry, guilty and finally completely and utterly ashamed with himself for breaking his promise and not protecting his little brother. He didn't know what to do and he had hugged his brother close, hoping and praying that he could get him back somehow.

He sniffled suddenly and realized, with abject horror, that there was a track of tears running down both of his cheeks. If this wasn't he most chick-flick like of moments, he didn't know what was.

"Crying?" Sam croaked out looking up at his brother. Dean winced as he realized Sam could barely hold his head up himself.

"Thought I lost you , Sammy," Dean responded before he could stop himself. He couldn't tell Sam he had actually died. It hurt to much to even think about it.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam responded with a weak smile. He felt like he was floating, but the relief from the pain was almost dizzying. He chuckled low in his throat before he finally decided to go for the dig.

"We just have a chick-flick moment?"

"Dude, I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, I will personally turn you into a Samantha myself," Dean grouched back, swiping furiously at his face while cleaning his knife against the grass by his knee.

"Whatever," Sam sighed out in response. It felt good to hear his brother playing the tough guy act, even if he knew something terrible had just happened. It was good to see the routine. It felt safe and secure.

Sam could feel himself drifting away again, but this time it wasn't to avoid pain.

"Whoa there killer," Dean said, turning away from repacking his duffel, "You gotta help me get you back to the car. I can't drag your fat ass there on my own."

"S'all muscle," Sam husked out and tried to summon the strength to prop himself up. He managed it, but just barely. He felt completely drained and he blinked his eyes sluggishly as he looked his brother over.

"Somethin' you're not saying?" Sam slurred out.

Dean nodded before he zipped his bag closed and secured Sam's arm over his shoulders.

"Talk about it in the morning, 'kay?"

Sam nodded and tried to push himself to his feet even though he knew Dean was doing most of the work. He felt himself stumbling as they trekked back to the car, back towards safety and everything they had. However, the cocoon of warmth that was the Impala soon engulfed Sam and he fought against sleep hard. The door soon shut and Sam relaxed against it; his eyes slipped closed and he let himself drift off into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in days.

Dean sighed as he slid himself into the car. He paused for a moment, hands resting on the wheel as he fought with himself. Sam had been dead and Dean had nearly lost it. He didn't know what to do or how to move on without his brother. It was by far the worst feeling of his life and he sure as hell hoped he wouldn't have to deal with it again any time soon.

He let out his breath in one quick burst before he grabbed his keys and coaxed the car key into the ignition. His wrist turned as a thought flipped in his mind. Sam was fine therefore Dean was okay. His little family, his little piece of the world, was safe.

If only he knew what he would be driven to do the next time this happened.

**[the end]**

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for sticking with me through this one! It was a complicated but fun ride, none the less! Anyways, please let me know what you think/thought and I'll see you next time!

xoTrebleMaker


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